(^^    y^        ■  ^1^...^  o-,^.^^--^ 


^■/ 


\   / 


U/; 


/^66     ^' 


BY  MAARTEN  MAARTENS. 


GOD'S   FOOL. 

i2nio.     Cloth,  gilt,  $1.50. 

"  Throughout  there  is  an  epigrammatic  force  which 
would  make  palatable  a  less  interesting  story  of  human 
lives  or  one  less  deftly  told." — London  Saturday  ReTteiv. 

"  Perfectly  easy,  graceful,  humorous  .  .  .  The  author's 
skill  in  character-drawing  is  undeniable." — London  Chron- 
icle. 

"  A  remarkable  work." — Neiv  York   Times. 

"  The  story  is  wonderfully  brilliant.  .  .  .  The  interest 
never  lags;  the  style  is  realistic  and  intense:  and  there  is 
constantly  underlying  current  of  subtle  humor.  ...  It  is, 
in  short,  a  book  which  no  student  of  modern  literature 
should  fail  to  read." — Bos/on  7 iines. 


JOOST  AVELINGH. 

i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  A  book  by  a  man  who,  in  addition  to  mere  talent,  has 
in  him  a  vein  of  genuine  genius." — London  Academy. 

"  So  unmistakably  good  as  to  induce  the  hope  that  an 
acquaintance  with  the  Dutch  literature  of  fiction  may  soon 
become  more  general  among  us." — London  Mortiing  Post. 

"  In  scarcely  any  of  the  sensational  novels  of  the  day 
will  the  reader  find  more  nature  or  more  human  nature." — 
London  Standard. 

"  A  novel  of  a  very  high  type.  At  once  strongly  re- 
alistic and  powerfully  idealistic." — London  Literary 
ti'orid. 


THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

121X10.     Cloth,  Si. 50. 


New  York:  D.  Appleton  &  Co.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


THE  GREATER  GLORY 


A   STORY  OF  HIGH  LIFE 


BY 

MAARTEN   MAARTENS 

AUTHOR    OF    cod's    FOOL,    JOOST    AVELINGH,    ETC. 


"  So  doth  the  Greater  Glory  dim  the  less  " 


NEW    YORK 

D.    APPLE  TON    AND    COMPANY 

1894 


Copyright,  1893, 
Bv   D.    APPLETON   AND   COMPANY. 


Electrotyped  and  Printed 
at  the  appleton  press,  u.  s.  a. 


TO 

WENDELA 


NOTE 


Holland  is  a  small  country,  and  it  is  difficult  to  step 
out  in  it  without  treading  on  somebody's  toes.  I  therefore 
wish  to  declare,  once  for  all,  and  most  emphatically,  that 
my  books  contain  no  allusions,  covert  or  overt,  to  any  real 
persons,  living  or  dead.  I  am  aware  that  great  masters  of 
fiction  have  thought  fit  to  work  from  models ;  that  method 
must  therefore  possess  its  advantages :  it  is  not  mine.  In 
this  latest  book,  for  instance,  I  have  purposely  avoided  cor- 
rect description  of  the  various  Court  Charges,  lest  anyone 
should  seek  for  some  feeble  coincidence.  Such  search,  after 
this  statement,  would  be  deliberately  malicious.  I  describe 
manners  and  morals,  not  individual  men. 

M.  M. 


Cv) 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.— Rings  the  departuee-bell 1 

11, — Young  Reinout 9 

III.— Deynum. 18 

IV. — The  Rexelaers  of  Deynum 25 

V. — The  stranger  comes  to  Deynum       ....  35 

VI. — The  White  Baroness 39 

VII.— Heureux  en  mariage 48 

VIII. — A  prince  of  the  blood  royal 53 

IX.— Disease .60 

X. — A  shepherd  and  two  sheep 67 

XI. — "  Entre  l'arbre  et  l'ecorce  " 76 

XII. — The  heiress  and  her  squire 86 

XIII. — Baronial  business 94 

XIV. — Young  Reinout  meets  his  unknown  friend  again.  110 

XV.— "Why  not,  M.  LE  Marquis?" 107 

XVI.— "J'osAis" 117 

XVII. — Not  as  we  will,  but  as  we  would,  0  Lord  .        .  129 

XVIII. — An  aristocrat's  idea  of  the  law    ....  139 

XIX. — The  spoiler  and  the  spoiled 145 

XX. — The  Marquis's  heirs 158 

XXL— J'ose! 162 

XXIL— The  home  of  poesy 165 

XXIII. — And  of  statecraft 173 

XXIV. — A  WINDOW  opens 183 

XXV.— Miss  Piggie 188 

XXVL— Splendide  Mendax 192 

XXVII. — Low  life,  for  a  change 201 

XXVIIL— Reinout  II 208 

(vii) 


Vlll 


rt)XTP]NTS. 


CHAnER 

XXIX. — Thk  message  of  the  silence  . 

XXX. — ",Iaik-sxaps" 

XXXI. — Reixout's  cousixs      .... 
XXXII. — Margherita  discovers  that  Yoi:  cax 

A   COLD    COUNTRY    TOO    HOT   TO    HOLD    Y 
XXXIII. — A   COUNTY-MAGNATE      .... 

XXXIV. — The  two  Reinouts  meet  . 
XXXV. — A  strange  light  and  new  darkness 
XXXVI. — The  head  of  the  house  . 
XXXVII. — "All  the  comforts  of  a  home"'     . 

XXXVIII.— The  Borcks 

XXXIX.— Honest  hearts 

XL.— Of  some  that  returned  to  Deynum  and 
departed  thence 

XLI. — "Cousins" 

XLII. — The  dawn  of  the  higher  life 
XLIII. — The  dawn  proves  cloudy 

XLIV. — The  iron  hand 

XLV. — Count  Rexelaer's  troubles    . 
XL VI. — Foreign  affairs  and  other  people's  b 

XLVII. — A    MYSTERIOUS   POET      .... 

XLVIIL— Stains 

XLIX.— The  Lady's  Dole      .... 

L. — New  scenes  and  old  faces     .      ^ 

LI. — Little  Paradise        .... 

LII. — Volkert 

LIII.— The  will 

LIV. — The  Slough  of  Despond  .        .        . 
LV. — Humility  and  humiliation 
LVI. — A   clandestine  correspondence  with 

left  out      

LVIL— The  story  of  Ri-Ksi-La  and  the  Dey 

LVIII. — A   HUNTED  HARE 

LIX. — The  Baron's  confession   . 

LX. — Rekselaar 

LXl. — "He  leadeth  me  in  green  pastures" 
LXII. — No  thoroughfare      .... 

LXIIL— Alone 

LXIV. — Success 

LXV. — Respice  finem 


lAKE 

ou 


THE 

Xou 


M 


PAGE 
213 

218 
226 

232 
238 
246 
254 
258 
265 
271 
279 


287 
297 
306 
311 
315 
320 
328 
334 
341 
348 
360 
368 
376 
387 
395 
401 

409 
414 
419 
429 
435 
440 
448 
455 
462 
469 


THE  ARGUMENT, 

WHICH  NO^E  JSEED  READ. 


She  came  to  him— the  Life  of  his  Life,  the  Said  of  his 
Soul — she  came  to  him  where  he  sat  in  the  loneness  of  the 
stately  mansion,  and  she  laid  a  gentle  touch  upon  his  bended 
head. 

Where  he  sat  in  the  loneness  of  his  grandeur,  with  hands 
close-pressed  against  throbbing  eijeballs,  jjressed  get  closer, 
to  shut  out  that  crimson  flare  which  ivas  eating  aivay  his 
heart. 

Thus  she  found  him  staring  wildly  into  darkness,  star- 
ing beyond  the  darkness,  into  that  void  which  is  more  hor- 
rible than  death.     "  Come,''''  she  said. 

Then  he  lifted  up  his  eyes  in  sluggish  wonder.  "  Is  it 
thou?""  he  whispered.  ''Art  thou  thou?'''' — and  he  took  up 
his  burden,  which  loas  himself,  and  followed  her. 

She  led  him  down  into  the  great  hall  of  mirth,  from 
whence  he  had  but  newly  crept  away  for  weariness.  The 
discordance  of  its  tuneless  music  and  its  joyless  laughter 
rolled  up  to  meet  thefn  in  their  coming  ;  yet  of  sight  there 
teas  nought  to  welcome  them,  because  that  its  myriad  candles 
were  grown  suddenly  dark. 

Suddenly  dark  and  unperceivable,  had  it  not  been  that, 
as  she  passed  before  him,  the  light  of  her  eyes  shone  forth 
icith  spreading  splendour,  and  by  its  rays  he  marked  in 
dumb  amazement  how  that  the  great  gold  cups  and  chargers 


X  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

on  the  board  were  empty  all,  and  la  and  behold  the  guests  sat 
naked, and  their  fair  white  flesh  luas  covered  with  S07rs  and 
they  were  not  ashamed. 

They  loere  not  ashamed,  but  rather  did  they  clash  to- 
gether empty  goblets  and  raise  thetn  to  their  lips  and  drink 
and  sing.  Ay,  there  was  drinking  fro)n  emptiness  and  from 
hollowness  was  merriment.  A  cold  mist,  white  and  slow, 
rose  across  the  shadows,  in  a  ring  around  the  radiance  of 
that  starlit  brow. 

He  stop2)ed  beside  a  woman  fair  of  face  to  look  upon, 
ichose  leprous  arms  were  girt  witli  bracelets,  and  a  serpent 
lay  upon  her  breast.  There  was  scorn  in  his  sad  eyes  as  he 
gazed  upon  her,  and  he  broke  into  a  fierce  shout  of  laughter 
that  beat  doiun  the  tumult  around. 

But  the  looman  stared  bach  upon  him  as  one  that  saw 
him  not.  In  her  gaze  stood  a  sorrow',  great  and  silent. 
None  echoed  his  laugh  ;  upon  all  that  gay  company  a  sudden 
hush  7vas  fallen.  And  his  eyelids  also  were  heavy  with 
tears. 

She — the  Life  of  his  Life,  the  Soul  of  his  Soul — ficrned 
from  lohere  she  luas  passing  on  before  him.  "  Coyne  forth," 
she  said,  and  resumed  her  way. 

But,  ere  she  approached  the  great  portal,  to  which  her 
hope  was  hastening,  o)ie  that  sat  loiv  down  at  the  table 
stretched  out  his  naked  arm  and  barred  her  path.  "  Thou 
art  illfavotired,"  he  cried,  ^'■and  strange  to  look  upoji.  Tell 
thy  name  ere  thou  go.'''' 

Serene,  she  drew  herself  up  to  all  her  lofty  stature.  "/ 
have  many  names,"  she  ansivered  him,  "  but  none  for  such 
as  thou.  To  thee  let  me  he  known  for  ever  as  an  evil  angel 
of  God:' 

He  dropped  his  arm  with  an  oath  and  lifted  one  of  the 
empty  cups  and  seemed  to  drain  it.  And  some  that  sat  near 
cried  shame — upo7i  her. 

Then  fled  they  forth,  these  twain — he  and  she — info  the 
far  country,  and  luhen  the  stillness  had  enfolded  them  as  a 


THE  ARGUMENT.  xi 

garment,  sJie  dreto  down  his  head  upon  her  hreast.  "  It  ivas 
thy  mother,^''  she  ivhisijered  gravely,  as  one  chides  a  child 
that  is  sorry. 

"  My  mother  9  "  he  replied,  "  /  have  never  knovjn  her,  if 
so  he  that  she  and  I  have  met.  Nothing  have  1  known  be- 
yond the  lap)  that  bare  me  and  the  breasts  that  never  gave 
me  suck.'''' 

Then  went  they  on  in  silence,  these  twain — 7ie  and  she — 
rising  swiftly  into  the  soft  night-air,  sioeeping  forivards 
past  many  a  solitary  house  and  quiet  hamlet  and  ivide- 
spread  village,  over  the  drowsy  fields,  oppressed  tvith  corn 
and  cattle,  over  the  restless  forests,  that  never  cease  convers- 
ing i?i  their  sleep.  All  tJte  beautiful  world,  of  ivliich  men 
knoiv  so  little,  lay  beneath  tliem,  shrouded  in  darkness,  and, 
above  them,  circled  in  light,  lay  tlie  beautiful  worlds  of 
which  men  know  nothing  at  all. 

They  arrested  their  flight  and  hung  over  the  great 
city.  It  gloived  in  the  abyss,  a  red  blot  through  the 
night. 

"  Look  down,''''  she  said.  And  he  obeyed  her.  For  one 
br'ief  moment  he  obeyed  tier  ;  then  he  shuddered  aiv ay.  "/ 
cannot,''''  he  gasped.  /She  smiled  upon  him,  with  a  smile  of 
trustful  pity.  '•'•Look  down^'  she  repeated,  and  there  was 
cominand  in  her  voice. 

And  agaiM  he  obeyed  her.  And  a  great  silejice  lay  be- 
tween them,  for  many  moments.     Then  he  spoke: 

"  It  is  most  horrible^''  he  murmured.  "  It  is  strangely, 
sadly  beautiful.     I  would  gaze  for  ever  thus,  but  that  my 

sight  is  failing  me Dearest,  I  thank  Heaven  that  I 

am  blind.'''' 

And  she  led  him  far  awag  into  the  desert — into  the 
place  where  no  man  cometh  except  she  guide  him  thither. 
On  the  brink  of  that  vast  precipice  they  stood  and  waited, 
and  he  felt  that  destruction  yawned  below. 

"  Leap !  "  she  said,  and  let  fall  his  hand.  Then,  as  he 
lost  her  hold,  the  truth  rushed  back  upon  him  that  he  was 


xii  THE  greatp:r  glory. 

but  a  )))((fi,  a  child  of  earth,  and  that  icinga  are  gii'en  to 
angels  only. 

And  he  leaped. 

But  as  he  fell  away  into  space,  he  recdized  suddenly  that 
there  was  no  more  falling,  no  height,  "nor  depth,  nor  dis- 
tance. There  was  nothing  hiit  the  small  round  eartli  out- 
side him,  and  around  him  God. 

And  he  lay  silent  in  the  immeasurable  heaven. 

'■'■It  is  a  meteor  f^  said  the  people,  gathered  to  behold. 
"  How  brilliantly  it  shines  !     But  tuhy  ?  " 

And  no  one  could  give  them  answer,  for  the  Angel  of 
God  was  dead. 

This  is  not  an  allegory.  It  is  simply  the  irhole  simple 
story.  They  who  icill  may  read  it.  But  you  and  I,  we 
cannot  understand  it  rightly,  because  the  Angel  of  God  is 
dead. 


THE  GREATER  GLORY. 


CHAPTER   I. 

Ri:NrGS   THE    DEPARTURE-BELL. 

This  is  a  true  story.  It  is  what  they  call  a  story  of 
high  life.  It  is  also  a  story  of  the  life  which  is  higher 
still. 

There  be  climbings  which  ascend  to  depths  of  infamy ; 
there  be  also — God  is  merciful ! — most  infamous  fallings 
into  heaven.  The  wise  men,  who  explain  this  world,  have 
taught  us  to  consider  it  a  round  one ;  doubtless  they  have 
wisely  measured  it.  Then,  as  't  is  round,  should  wisdom 
twist  it  topsy-turvy  no  one  would  be  a  whit  the  wiser,  not 
even  the  wise  men.  And  that,  perhaps,  is  why — sometimes 
— to  fools — our  earthly  high  and  low  seem  but  a  mighty 
matter  of  tweedledum  and  tweedledee. 

Fortune,  the  blind  old  hag,  in  her  seat  by  the  hearth, 
grins  down  vacantly  at  the  wise  men,  whom  she  twiddles  on 
her  thumbs — like  the  fools.  Like  tlie  fools,  they  go  rising 
and  sinking,  rising  and  sinking,  till,  one  after  another,  all 
drop  away  into  the  fire.  I'hat,  at  any  rate,  is  the  end.  ^^'o 
drop  away  into  the  fire. 

Yet  never  a  traveller  paused  by  the  roadside  to  look 
back,  in  weariness  or  wonderment,  but  understood,  if  the 
valley  spread  wider,  that  his  path  leads  him  up.  So  be.  it. 
Presently,  on  the  other  side,  the  road  slopes  down  again 
into  another  valley.     But  wliat  matter  tlie  ups  and  downs 


2  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

of  tlie  journey  to  the  traA'cllcr  if  his  face  be  set  firmly  to- 
wards the  goal?  Only  he  feels  that  descent  is  strangely 
easy,  and  bonders  Avhy  God  bade  him  climb. 

We  say  that  the  steadfast  sun  rises  and  sinks,  like  us. 
We  see  him  do  it ;  such  mysterious  eyes  are  ours.  Yet  Ave 
know  that  it  is  otherwise.     We,  who  know  so  little. 

In  earth's  tiny  circle  revolve  earth's  little  high  and  low. 
God's  high  is  a  steadfast  point.  It  is  here  :  in  tlie  centre 
of  this  strange  thing  you  do  not  understand,  this  thing  you 
call  yourself,  the  divinely-human  heart. 

Mine  is  a  true  story.  It  is  a  story  of  high  life  as  they 
call  it.     It  is  also  a  story  of  the  life  which  is  highest  of  all. 

A  moment's  patience !  We  shall  be  coming  to  the 
funny  part  presently.  Is  it  my  fault  if  the  comedy  begins 
at  the  wrong  end  ?  So  much  the  better  for  the  other  end, 
the  riffht. 


The  departure-bell  clangs  suddenly  upon  the  silence. 
A  score  of  drowsy  figures  creep  forth  from  twilight  corners 
into  the  radiance  of  a  clear  October  afternoon. 

Yes,  it  was  on  the  6th  of  October  that  the  old  Belgian 
came  to  Deynum.  My  birthday,  as  it  happens,  my  fifteenth 
birthday.     Or  was  it  the  fourteenth,  Wendela  ? 

From  Avhere  she  sits  by  the  window,  in  the  fading  sum- 
mer sunset,  mending  one  of  Baby  Gertrude's  socks,  Wen- 
dela tells  me  that  she  herself  was  twelve  years  old  at  the 
time.  Then  it  must  have  been  my  fourteenth  birthday, 
dearest.  Yet  what  does  the  trifling  date  concern  us  ?  It  is 
all  so  long  ago,  but  that  it  is  to-day. 

On  that  sixth  of  October,  then,  somewhere  towards  the 
first  sink  of  the  sun  down  a  white-blue  autumn  sky,  a 
hackney-cab  drew  up,  with  a  farewell  rattle,  in  front  of  an 
outlying  Amsterdam  railway-station,  away  on  the  desolate 
dyke.     The  silver  daylight  rested  cold  upon  the  wooden 


RINGS   THE   DEPARTURE-BELL.  3 

shed,  upon  the  great  grey  square,  with  its  solitary  kiosqne, 
upon  the  dull  exj^anse  of  water  beyond.  Across  the  loneli- 
ness a  cruel  little  wind  came  persistently  blowing.  Inside 
the  building  a  sudden  bell  rang  out,  with  the  very  insolence 
of  noise. 

"  This  is  not  enough,  sir,"  said  the  cabman.  He  said  it 
gently,  for  the  Dutch  remain  calm  under  injustice. 

The  old  gentleman  who  had  alighted  from  the  vehicle 
continued  his  stolid  ascent  of  the  station-steps.  His  serv- 
ant, preparing  to  follow,  paused  on  the  pavement,  in  a  con- 
fusion of  wraps  and  traps.  It  was  the  servant  who  had 
proffered  the  offending  coin. 

A  Dutch  railway-station  is  a  scene  of  unruffled  repose, 
inside  and  out.  Half  a  dozen  porters,  in  white  blouses  and 
brass  badges,  leant  immovable  by  the  entrance,  sleepily  per- 
ceptive. The  platform-bell  stopped  with  a  jerk,  and  in  the 
stillness  of  the  square  the  solitary  cab  stood  out  against  its 
own  clear  shadow,  with  its  cab-like  air  of  sudden  col- 
lapse. 

"  Not  enough,"  repeated  the  driver,  without  raising  his 
voice.  The  Dutch  are  as  obstinate  as  they  are  gentle.  He 
held  up  the  half-florin  he  had  received,  between  greasy  fin- 
ger and  thumb,  in  the  face  of  Heaven  and  the  half  a  dozen 
porters. 

"  Xo,  mynheer,  it  is  not  enough,"  chimed  in  the  young- 
est of  the  porters.  The  elder  five  said  nothing ;  they  un- 
derstood that  information  from  a  porter  should  never  be 
gratuitous. 

The  valet  cast  a  timid  scowl  after  the  receding  figure  of 
his  master.  Then,  motioning  back  all  slow  offers  of  assist- 
ance, and  balancing  his  load  of  luggage  as  best  he  might,  he 
laboriously  extracted  a  whole  florin  from  a  little  black  velvet 
purse  and  handed  it  to  the  cabman.  The  purse,  with  its  fat 
embroidered  cross,  looked  queerly  suggestive  of  an  under- 
sized offertory-bag. 

"Thank  you,"  said  tlie  cabman,  almost  audibly,  as  he 


4  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

ilrove  olT.  lie  did  not  say:  "This  is  more  than  enough.'" 
lie  was  only  a  human  cabman. 

"  Ten  per  cent.,"  muttered  the  servant,  in  French,  and 
hurried  away  into  the  station.  The  white  porters  stared 
passively  in  front  of  them.  They  could  understand  neither 
the  too  little  nor  the  too  much. 

The  old  gentleman,  meanwhile,  had  progressed  straight 
across  the  entrance-hall.  There  was  a  convenient  passage 
to  the  platform  here,  which  officialism  had  reserved  for 
luggage.     Sub-officialism  called  out. 

The  stranger  pointed  a  careless  cane  in  the  direction 
where  his  servant  might  have  been.  He  was  a  distin- 
guished-looking man,  tall  and  straight,  well  oiled  and  well 
brushed,  with  a  magnificent  white  moustache,  and  superla- 
tively clad  in  a  light-yellow  ulster,  such  as  young  fellows 
wore  in  those  days. 

"  A  prince,"  said  one  guard,  by  the  gate,  in  an  awe- 
struck growl. 

"  Pshaw,"  grumbled  his  comrade,  a  bilious  man  without 
any  predilections.  "  Priucs  or  Pope,  he  had  no  right  to 
pass  through  here;  barring  he  had  been  a  portmanteau, 
which  he  wasn't." 

"  Perhaps  he  was  an  Englishman,"  said  the  first  guard. 
"Englishmen  may  do  whatever  thev  like.  And  they 
do  it." 

The  object  of  their  unwilling  admiration  turned  neither 
to  right  nor  left.  His  movements  were  those  of  a  man  in 
a  trance.  His  eyes  were  set  in  that  glassy  stare  which  sees 
nothing  that  is  near. 

A  line  of  empty  carriages  was  drawn  up  along  the  plat- 
form, Avaiting.  He  got  into  one  of  them,  and  closed  the 
door.  A  silver  -  braided  somebody  sprang  forward  and 
opened  it  again.  The  old  gentleman  awoke  to  the  action, 
and  flushed. 

At  that  moment  the  station-bell  rang  out  afresh.  "  On 
Sonne  le  depart,"  he  said  aloud.     "  Eh  bien,  I  am  ready  to 


RINGS  THE   DEPARTURE-BELL.  5 

go.  But  not  thus,  great  God  !  Xot  flius.''^  And  large 
beads  of  perspiration  stood  out  upon  his  forehead. 

The  deserted  platform  now  began  rapidly  to  fill.  Little 
groups  went  wandering  by,  with  bags  and  bundles ;  a  bright 
provincial  dress  shone  out  from  time  to  time  among  the 
shoddy  waterproofs.  Presently  a  scrubby,  shoppy  indi- 
vidual slipped  into  the  compartment,  an  open  paper  of 
grapes  in  his  hand. 

The  stranger  passed  out  and  wrenched  open  the  first 
door  within  his  reach.  But  once  more  a  conductor  hiter- 
posed.  "  This  compartment  is  reserved,  monsieur,  in  case 
any  of  the  directors — " 

"  It  is  the  only  one  takable  and  I  take  it,"  replied  the 
old  gentleman,  still  in  French.  "  Antoine,"  he  turned 
fiercely  upon  his  valet,  Avho  had  just  sncceeded  in  finding 
him,  "you  blockhead,  where  are  you?  Pay  for  all  the 
places,  and  see  that  they  leave  me  in  peace." 

"  If  monsieur  would  but  inform  me  where  it  is  his  in- 
tention to  betake  himself — "  began  the  valet,  with  a  slight 
stutter  over  the  word  "  Monsieur." 

The  old  man  hesitated  on  the  carriage-step.  "  Get  your 
tickets,"  he  burst  out,  with  unreasoning  fierceness,  "as 
far  as  the  train  goes.  And  see  that  they  leave  me  in 
peace." 

Xo  further  molestation  was  offered  him.  At  a  few  hur- 
ried words  from  the  frightened  valet,  the  protesting  officials 
fell  back,  with  discreet  glances  of  half-vexed  curiosity. 
"  These  great  personages ! "  said  the  inspector,  shrugging 
his  shoulders,  and  with  his  own  hand  he  brought  a  card, 
marked  "  Engaged." 

"  This  is  not  for  Belgium  ?  This  train  ?  "  asked  the  old 
man,  rousing  himself. 

"  Certainly  not,  your  Highness.  The  Belgian  train  does 
not  leave  till  6.40.  This  one  is  just  starting.  Might  I 
ask—" 

"My  valet!     My  valet  will  tell  you,"  replied  the  old 


THE  GREATER  GLORY. 


man,  ^vith  a  ivpollaut  gesture.  "  Morbleu,  euunot  you  leave 
me  in  peace  ?  " 

They  bustled  iu  Antoine,  still  fumbling  his  change,  and 
expostulating  with  everybody.  Another  moment  and  the 
train  was  off. 

"  I  have  tickets  to  the  frontier,  Monsieur  le  Marquis." 

The  old  man  took  no  notice.  His  face,  under  its  careful 
make-up,  was  hideous  w'ith  the  horror  of  his  thoughts. 

The  valet  remained  standing  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
railway-carriage,  steadying  himself  against  the  side  with  an 
air  of  resjDectful  indifference.  Presently  he  drew  a  couple 
of  small  note-books  from  his  pocket,  and  began  scribbling 
assiduously  in  them.  One  especially  appeared  to  claim 
much  of  his  attention ;  it  was  lettered  "  Debtor  and  Credi- 
tor "  in  dull  gold. 

The  train  ran  on  swiftly  through  the  ashen  twilight. 
All  around,  the  flat  country  lay  brown  and  bleak.  Xot  a 
sound  disturbed  the  listening  silence,  except  once  when  the 
old  man  broke  into  a  shuddering  groan.  The  valet  looked 
up  quickly,  then  down  again,  and  went  on  with  his  scrib- 
bling. 

"  Listen,"  said  the  Marquis  at  last,  abruptly,  speaking  as 
if  he  dreaded  equally  both  silence  and  speech,  "  I  may  as 
well  tell  someone.     I  am  dying." 

A  long  stillness.     "  I  am  dying — hein  ?  " 

"  I  regret  it  sincerely  for  Monsieur  le  Marquis." 

"  Ha,  polisson,  you  will  regret  it  for  yourself."  Having 
once  cast  forth  his  secret,  the  sick  man  seemed  to  find  relief 
in  abuse  of  his  companion.  He  heaped  up  angry  words  for 
some  moments  longer.  The  valet  stood  silent,  ticking  his 
pencil  against  the  cover  of  his  pocket-book.  And  the  train 
ran  smoothly  on. 

"  You  will  gain  nothing  by  my  death.  Do  you  under- 
stand ?  " 

"  I  have  always  understood  that  perfectly,  Monsieur  le 
Marquis."     And  the  train  ran  smoothly  on. 


RINGS  THE   DEPARTURE-BELL.  7 

Then  a  station  was  reached.  During  the  long  halt  that 
ensued  a  number  of  inquisitive  glances  were  attracted  by 
the  label  in  the  window,  a  most  unusual  sight  in  Holland. 
People  lingered  near,  a-tiptoe,  peering.  The  valet  stared 
back  insolently,  screening  his  master. 

When  the  train  was  once  more  rushing  forward,  away 
among  the  fields,  the  Marquis  resumed,  with  his  eyes  on 
the  window  beside  him :  "  At  least  you  might  have  asked 
how  long." 

"  As  it  pleases  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  said  the  valet. 

Again  a  heavy  pause.  And,  beneath  the  deepening 
shadows,  an  increasing  sense  of  chill.  Miles  upon  miles  of 
quiet  meadows  and  monotonous  cattle.  The  Marquis  did 
not  see  them  as  he  gazed.  He  saw  nothing  but  that  death- 
warrant  he  had  heard  an  hour  ago,  writ  large  across  the 
steadfast  heavens.  And  the  weight  of  his  solitude  became 
unbearable  to  him. 

"  That  cabman?"  he  began  anew.  "  Did  you  pay  him 
more  than  his  proper  fare  ?  " 

"  No,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  said  the  valet. 

"  It  is  good.  I  should  have  deducted  the  sum  from 
your  w\ages." 

"  So  I  told  myself,  Monsieur  le  Marquis." 

But  Antoine  smiled  softly,  as  he  fingered  the  little  ac- 
count-book in  his  pocket.  And  he  breathed  on  the  pane 
before  him,  and  wrote  "  ten  per  cent."  across  it  with  his 
finger,  and  gently  rubbed  the  letters  out,  as  the  smooth 
train  flew  on.  He  did  not  look  round  again  until  a  quick 
succession  of  gasps  attracted  his  calm  attention.  Even 
then  he  did  not  turn  immediately.  He  was  hardly  an  evil 
man.  He  was  only  a  menial.  What  sympathy  of  sorrow 
should  he  dare  to  have  in  common  with  his  arrogant 
lord  ? 

The  Marquis  was  lying  back,  faintly  struggling  with  the 
tightness  of  his  collar  and  cravat.  His  features  seemed 
wrenched  awry  in  the  violence  of  his  pain.     "  We  must 


8  THE  uiu-:ater  glory. 

stop,"  he  whispered,  "  at  tlie  next  station.  I  can  go  no  far- 
ther.    Stop !  " 

The  valet  drew  near,  helplessly  striving  to  help.  "  But 
where  then — ?"  he  began,  and  checked  himself. 

"Wliere?  Does  it  matter?" — the  sufferer's  voice  rose 
to  a  momentary  scream  and  immediately  died  down  again. 
"  Anywhere.     Only  stop." 

They  remained  facing  each  other  in  the  long  grey  sun- 
set, the  servant  inicertain,  annoyed,  swaying  to  and  fro  in 
the  continuous  motion ;  the  master  crushed  down  among 
his  foppish  finery,  vainly  hoping  to  beat  back  the  fierce 
flame  from  his  breast. 

At  last  the  engine  slackened  its  pace,  and  drew  up  with 
a  thud.  Antoine  thrust  his  head  out  into  the  sudden  hush. 
An  open  shed  stood  forlorn,  amid  the  shadow-smitten  land- 
scape, by  the  glistening  rails. 

" This  is  a  station — this?    A  village? "  cried  the  valet. 

"  Jawel,  mynheer,"  replied  a  voice. 

"  Quick ! "  murmured  the  Marquis ;  "  open  the  door. 
Quick.     Before  they  start  again  !  " 

The  valet  still  delayed  for  a  moment,  with  his  hand 
nervously  trying  the  lock.     "  And  the  name  ?  "  he  called. 

The  guard  came  running  up  in  astonishment.  "You 
are  mistaken  ! "  he  cried.  "  This  is  nothing.  This  is  Dey- 
num." 

The  old  man  started  slightly  as  the  name  reached  his 
ears.  "  Deynum,"  he  repeated  ;  "  of  all  places !  That  de- 
cides it."  He  stumbled  to  his  feet.  "  De3mum  I  That 
must  mean  little  Eeinout.  Here  or  anywhere.  And  what 
does  it  matter  where,  w^hen  the  final  summons  comes ! " 

The  shrill  station-bell  rang  out  its  sudden  warning 
across  the  listening  fields. 


CHAPTER  11. 

youxg  reisout. 

"  Eeinout  ! " 

Count  Hilarius  went  across  to  the  window  and  called  to 
his  son.  It  was  a  dull,  sombre-curtained  window,  oj)ening 
out  upon  the  long,  dull  city-garden  of  a  dull  house  at  the 
Hague.  The  room  was  a  "  study,"  so-named  from  the  direc- 
tories and  Government  almanacks  which  slept,  uncut,  on 
their  shelves,  against  the  wall. 

Count  Hilarius  smoothed  his  fair  moustache,  and  a  flush 
played  across  his  cheeks.  He  cast  a  gratified  look  at  his  re- 
flection in  the  window-pane,  and  a  still  more  delighted  one 
down  on  the  document  in  his  hand. 

"  Reinout !  Come  here  immediately.  I  have  something 
to  tell  you.     Something  you  will  like  to  hear." 

The  boy  in  the  distance,  who  had  been  stooping  over  a 
rabbit-hutch,  turned  in  hasty  obedience  to  this  reiterated 
summons  and  came  running  towards  the  house.  As  he  ran, 
he  continued  to  fondle  a  cumbersome  black  bunny,  which 
hung,  jammed  up  most  miserably  against  his  jacket,  inces- 
santly twitching  its  little  pink  nose. 

"  I  couldn't  come  at  once,  papa,"  he  shouted.  "  This 
animal  had  got  its  paw  caught  in  the  netting,  and  I  had  to 
unfasten  it.  Poor  beastie.  Poor  bcastie."  He  squeezed 
the  rabbit  energetically.  "  I  hate  rabbits  all  the  same,"  he 
added.  "  I  shall  give  mine  away  on  my  birthday.  Greedy 
creatures.     They're  no  good  to  nobody  but  themselves." 

"  And  a  very  wise  philosophy,"  replied  his  father  laugh- 
ing.    "  Look  here,  Peiiiout;  something  very  im])ortant  has 


10  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

happened.  You're  too  young  to  understand  about  it  riglitly. 
Still,  you  can  easily  see  that  I  am  pleased." 

"  I  shall  be  fourteen  next  Aveek,  papa,"  said  Reinout. 
Then  a  sudden  burst  of  flame  came  pouring  across  his 
southern  eyes.  "  Are  we  to  go  back  to  Brazil  ?  "  he  asked. 
And  dropped  his  rabbit. 

"  Far  better  than  that — "  the  boy  made  a  dash  at  the 
skipping,  crouching  quadruped — "We  shall  never  leave 
Holland  again.  For  here,  in  my  hand — "  Count  Hilarius's 
voice  and  countenance  dropped  in  solemn  unison — "  I  hold 
my  nomination  to  the  Eoyal  Household.  Child,  your  father 
will  henceforth  spend  mncli  of  his  time  in  attendance  on 
the  King." 

He  called  out  the  final  words,  somewhat  crossly,  after 
his  retreating  offspring.  But  Keinout  leaped  back  at  a 
bound. 

"  Oh  how  splendid  !"  said  Reinout. 

The  Count  smiled  a  complacent  little  smile. 

"  Monsieur  de  Souza  always  says,"  continued  the  boy 
enthusiastically,  [he  was  quoting  his  tutor],  "  that  that's 
what  /  must  do  when  I  grow  up.  Serve  the  King  !  There's 
nothing  else  worth  doing  in  these  days,  he  says.  And  you 
remember,  the  king  can  do  no  wrong,  papa.  So  he  will 
always  be  able  to  tell  you  exactly  what  is  right." 

"  Child,  how  stupidly  you  sometimes  talk.  I  am  not  to 
be  Prime  ^Minister,  thank  Goodness.  I  am  appointed  one 
of  the  Lord's  Sub-Comptrollers  of  the  Household.  There ; 
that  is  what  you  can  tell  j'our  playmates.  A  Lord  Sub- 
Comptroller  of  the  Household.  There  are  two  of  them.  It 
sounds  rather  nice ;  does  it  not  ?  " 

And  he  walked  away  from  the  window,  pleasantly  lin- 
gering over  the  delightful  words.  Then,  with  one  of  the 
quick  twists  peculiar  to  his  nervous  figure — Count  Hilarius 
was  never  more  irritable  than  when  gratified — he  turned  to 
say  sharply : 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense  about  Brazil.     You  would  like  to 


YOUNG  REINOUT.  H 

live  out  in  the  countiy — wouldn't  you  ? — here  in  Holland,  in 
a  beautiful  Castle  with  parks  and  pleasure-grounds,  quite 
dijfferent  from  this  poky  bit  of  garden,  where  you  could  have 
dogs,  and  a  pony,  and  lots  of  other  pets  ?  " 

"  Oh  a  pony  ! "  cried  the  son,  overliearing  the  rest.  "  Are 
you  going  to  give  me  a  pony  for  my  birthday  ?  I  don't  want 
any  other  dog  than  Prince." 

"  No,  not  just  yet.  But  if  ever  I  get — Deynum,  you 
shall  have  one.  There,  run  away  now.  I  have  letters  to 
write." 

"  To  mamma  ?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  Amongst  others.  Why  do  you  ask  ?  Do  you  want  me 
to  tell  her  to  come  back  ?  " 

"  No ;  it  is  not  that.  I  was  thinking  she  would  like  to 
hear  that  Prince's  leg  is  well  again." 

"  Oh,  rubbish.     You  had  better  write  to  her  yourself." 

"  I  ?  "  said  the  boy.  "  Why  ?  "  And  he  ran  away— he 
always  either  ran  or  crawled — with  tlie  rabbit  against  his 
cheek,  overflowing  his  shoulders. 

At  the  farther  end  of  his  dusty  playground  he  stopped 
abruptly.  "  How  splendid  !  "  he  repeated,  and  then  he  sat 
down  on  the  bench  by  the  single  apple-tree,  to  think  it  out. 

The  news  had  overwhelmed  him,  little  eighteenth-cen- 
tury royalist  that  he  was.  Of  the  strange  education  which 
his  parents  had  decreed  should  be  his,  more  anon ;  suffice  it 
to  say  at  present  that  its  central  idea  had  been  the  pomps 
and  majesties  of  the  Crown  and  its  dependent  Coronets,  the 
glory  of  the  Sun  and  of  the  Stars.  "  Make  a  gentleman  of 
him,  not  a  scholar,"  his  father  had  said  to  the  old  Chevalier 
de  Souza.  And  with  Count  van  Rexelaer  a  gentleman  meant 
a  man  of  the  world. 

"  Tell  your  playmates."  Ecinout  reflected.  Boy-friends 
— chums — he  had  none.  Away  in  Petropolis,  where  his 
father  had  helped,  in  a  small  way,  to  represent  the  Court  of 
the  Netherlands,  his  child-life  had  been  one  of  absolute 
lordship  among  a  confusion  of  servants  and  ajiimals,  with 


12  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

Monsieur  de  Souza  ever  ready  to  instruct  liini  how  to  use, 
without  abusing,  his  birthright  of  supremacy.  And  during 
the  succeeding  half-dozen  years  at  the  Hague — school  being 
forbidden  by  the  ex-diplomat's  theories — although  he  had 
certainly  come  into  contact  with  a  number  of  his  equals,  at 
fencing-classes,  dancing-classes,  riding-schools,  etc.,  the  bar- 
rier of  his  isolation  had  always  been  maintained.  "  Seek 
acquaintances  and  avoid  friends,"  was  one  of  his  father's 
favorite  sayings.  "  You  want  stepping-stones,  not  stum- 
bling-blocks. I  have  known  a  man  ruined  for  life  by  one 
friend." 

Eeinout,  then,  was  steered  clear  of  all  compromising 
connections,  high  or  low.  "  But  I  may  give  my  old  rocking- 
horse  to  the  coachman's  children  ?  "  And  white-headed 
Monsieur  de  Souza  smiled  down  fondly  on  his  impetuous 
pupil :  "  Most  certainly,  mon  petit,  you  must  always  be  very 
gracious  to  the  coachman's  children."  But  that  was  long 
ago. 

Eeinout  got  off  the  seat  again.  "  Prince,"  he  called  out, 
"  Prince  !  "  He  was  not  intending  to  whisper  his  story  to 
the  dog,  he  was  too  old  for  that ;  but  in  all  moments  of 
superabundant  feeling  our  thoughts  most  naturally  flow  out 
to  whatever  we  love  best.  The  dog  did  not  make  his  ap- 
pearance, how'ever,  and  Eeinout,  after  referring  to  his  watch 
to  make  the  agreeable  discovery  that  lessons  were  still  dis- 
tant, sank  back  dreamily,  letting  the  massive  gold  time- 
keeper fall  loose  in  his  lap. 

With  this  treasure,  too  costly  an  one  for  his  age,  was 
connected  the  sole  eventful  episode  of  his  dignified  young 
existence.  He  loved  to  recall  it.  He  loved  the  watch  next 
best  after  Prince,  because  Prince  was  alive.  But  then  so,  to 
some  indistinct  extent,  was  the  watch. 

The  first  summer  after  the  return  from  South  America 
had  been  spent  at  the  Belgian  sea-side  resort  of  Blanken- 
berghe.  On  one  broiling  July  afternoon,  when  his  more 
reasonable  elders  were  dozing,  Eeinout,  impervious  to  heat 


YOUNG  REINOUT.  13 

as  only  children  can  be,  had  slipped  out  for  a  good  run  with 
his  hoop,  beneath  the  blazing  firmament,  along  a  quiet, 
dusty  lane.  He  had  progressed  for  a  long  distance,  in 
warmth  and  loneliness,  when  suddenly  a  turn  of  the  road 
had  brought  him  face  to  face  with  a  swiftly  advancing  ridei*. 
The  start,  and  an  unexpected  slojoe  of  the  ground,  had 
caused  him  to  lose  control  over  his  bounding  toy,  and  he 
saw  it,  a  few  yards  in  front,  making  straight  for  the  horse's 
legs.  In  one  flash  he  had  realized  the  danger  to  the  rider 
and  had  flung  himself  after  it,  with  set  teeth,  straining  be- 
yond his  strength.  Then  had  come  a  terrible  rush  of  two 
seconds,  a  whirlwind  of  sand,  and  a  great  crash  of  thunder, 
as  he  fell  aside  and  rolled  over  with  the  hoop  in  his  arms. 
After  the  first  moment  of  dazzlement,  he  had  awakened  to 
the  fact  that  the  horseman  had  drawn  rein  beside  him,  an 
old  gentleman,  high  and  haughty,  on  a  magnificent  charger, 
in  a  halo  of  dust. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Eeinout, 
sitting  up. 

Of  these  words  the  old  gentleman  took  no  immediate 
notice.  "  Why  did  you  throw  yourself  under  my  horse's 
feet?"  he  asked. 

"  The  hoop,  monsieur.  I  had  to  stop  it.  I  couldn't — 
I  am  very  sorry." 

"  Of  course.  Most  children  would  have  stood  and  stared. 
Do  you  always  know  your  duty  and  " — with  an  amused 
smile — "risk  your  life  in  doing  it?" 

No  answer  but  a  puzzled  look. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from,  little  fool?  What  is  your 
name?" 

"From  Brazil,  monsieur.  Koinout  van  Rexelaer.  I 
mean  I  am  a  Hollander.     I  am  very  sorry." 

The  horse  gave  a  plunge  for  which,  this  time,  Reinout  was 
in  no  wise  responsible.  "  You  are  a  brave  boy,"  said  the  rider 
presently.  "  It  is  good  you  are  a  small  one,  for  I  jumped  you 
as  you  fell.     So  your  name,  of  all  others,  is  Rexelaer." 


14  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,"  acquiesced  Reinout  ;  "  but,  if  you 
please,  I  did  not  do  it  on  purpose." 

The  stranger  sat  looking  down  upon  him  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  said  thoughtfully  : 

"  I  wonder — never  mind.  Here,  catch  hold  !  As  a  me- 
mento of  our  meeting.  And  remember :  '  A  gentilhomme 
devoir  fait  loi.'     Good-b3'e." 

Eeinout  remained  alone  in  the  road,  still  seated  on  his 
hoop,  white  and  shabby,  the  beautiful  watch  in  his  lap. 
^  "  What  a  lie  I  gave  him  to  remember  me  by,"  reflected 
the  stranger,  as  he  rode  rajiidly  away.  "  TVell,  these  lies  are 
the  pillars  of  society.  A  fine  fellow,  though  I  was  foolish 
to  give  him  my  watch.  Of  course  it  is  her  child.  The 
world  is  positively  becoming  too  small  to  turn  round  in.  I 
shall  go  back  to  Saint  Leu  to-night." 

Eeinout  had  kept  his  present,  for — somewhat  to  his 
father's  vexation — no  effort  had  been  successful  in  discover- 
ing the  donor.  By  a  storm  of  tears  he  had  even  extorted 
permission  to  wear  it  daily.  He  was  immensely  proud  of  it. 
And  of  the  grand  old  gentleman,  his  mysterious  acquaint- 
ance.    And  of :  "  A  gentilhomme  devoir  fait  loi." 

Count  Hilarius  had  finished  his  letters,  and  was  re-pe- 
rusing the  last.  It  was  addressed  to  his  Countess,  at  Spa, 
whither  she  had  betaken  herself  for  a  course  of  the  waters, 
the  state  of  her  nerves  not  j)ermitting  her  son  to  accompany 
her.  His  father  was  willing  enough  for  him  to  remain. 
In  his  own  manner,  and  for  his  own  ambitious  reasons. 
Count  van  Rexelaer  was  deeply  attached  to  his  only  child 
and  heir. 

"  Xow  more  earnestly  than  hitherto" — the  Count  had 
written — "  I  shall  make  every  effort  with  regard  to  Dey- 
num.  I  must  succeed.  It  has  been  the  principal  object  of 
my  life,  as  you  know,  and,  at  last,  after  all  these  years  of 
economy  there  is  money  enough."  "  Bye-the-bye  I  "  re- 
marked Count  Hilarius,  when  he  came  to  this  passage,  and 


YOUNG  REINOUT.  15 

he  rose  and  rang  tlie  bell.  "  Go  to  the  Hotel  des  Etrangers, 
if  you  please,  and  ask  whether  Mynheer  Strum,  if  he  be  in, 
could  call  in  the  course  of  the  evening." 

"  To  the  hotel — I  beg  your  pardon,  sir  ?  "  said  the  man, 

"  I  will  write  down  the  name  for  you ;  that  will  be  bet- 
ter," replied  his  master  suavely.  And  he  did  so,  and  then 
he  added  a  postscript  to  the  Spa  letter :  "  At  this  moment  I 
have  a  better  chance  than  ever  of  acquiring  Deynum."  Then 
he  stopped.  "  Pooh  ;  she  doesn't  care  as  I  do.  How  could 
she?"  he  said.  His  son's  voice  came  wafted  to  him  from 
the  garden.     And  he  smiled. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  himself  was  on  his  way  to  the  place 
whither  he  had  dispatched  his  servant.  He  found  the  man 
waiting  in  the  hotel-entry.  "  No  use  delaying  till  this  even- 
ing," he  said  half-apologetically.  And  the  servant,  knowing 
his  master,  touched  his  cap  and  departed. 

Mynheer  Strum  was  in  his  room,  an  hotel-bedroom  on 
the  top  floor.  "  If  Mynheer  would  enter  the  reading- 
room;"  but  Mynheer  preferred  to  go  up.  The  stairs  were 
dark,  and  the  apartment  w^as  modest,  as  befitted  its  tempo- 
rary occupant,  a  young  country-notary  who  had  just  suc- 
ceeded to  his  father's  practice.  This  personage,  as  his  visitor 
entered,  rose  lingeringly  from  the  bed  upon  which  he  had 
been  lounging,  a  big,  ungainly  creature,  with  red  hair,  red 
hands  and  red,  spectacled  eyes,  his  whole  frame-work  sug- 
gestive of  bones  out  of  place. 

"  I  am  Count  Rexelaer,  upon  whom  you  called  a  week 
ago — "  began  the  ex-diplomat. 

"  I  remember,"  interrupted  the  IS'otary.  "  Take  a  seat. 
Mynheer  the  Count,"  and  he  pushed  forward  the  one  unen- 
cumbered chair,  without  any  effort  to  tidy  the  others,  as  he 
propped  himself  up  against  the  side  of  the  bed. 

"  I  was  too  much  occupied  with  other  important  matters 
at  the  time  to  give  your  communication  due  consideration. 
Since  then  I  have  studied  it  more  closely.  I  shall  instruct 
my  Notary  to  write  to  liaron  Rexelaer,  as  you  propose." 


It]  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

"Do,"  said  the  Notary,  cracking  his  prominent  knuc- 
kles. A  youthful  habit  which  his  foiul  mother  had  never 
even  observed. 

Count  Rexelaer's  face  showed  a  little  surprise,  no  vexa- 
tion. "  If  I  understand  the  matter  rightly,"  he  continued, 
"you  are  acting  in  Baron  van  Rexelaer's  interest?" 

"  Xo,  Mynheer." 

"  But,  surely,  though  I  am  sincerely  obliged  to  you — " 

"  I  am  acting  in  nobody's  particular  interest,  not  even 
my  own.     As  it  happens,  they  all  coincide." 

"  Still,  I  can  easily  conceive  that  the  Notary  of  Dey- 
num  must  regard  the  lord  of  the  manor — my  cousin,  if  I 
may  so  venture  to  call  him — with  feelings  of  peculiar — 
peculiar — " 

"  Do  not  say  '  obligation,'  Mynheer,"  interj^osed  the 
other  irritably.  "  I  owe  Mynheer  your  Cousin — "  a  sneer 
flashed  through  the  last  two  words — "  nothing  beyond  the 
deference  due  to  his  position.  Me  he  owes — thanks  to  my 
father's  good-nature — a  very  long  bill.  Please  do  not  mis- 
understand me.  I  have  nothing  against  the  family  at  Dey- 
num.  On  the  contrary,  a  man  does  not  easily  break  loose 
from  his  earliest  prejudices,  and  I  feel  for  the  Baron  at  the 
Castle  a  good  deal  of  w'hat  my  parents  have  taught  me  to 
feel.  I  wash  him  well.  I  heartily  wnsh  to  assist  him.  And 
that  is  why  I  came  to — you." 

There  was  a  world  of  youthful  arrogance  in  his  words. 
Count  Rexelaer  rose,  smiling.  "  Quite  so,"  he  said.  "  Well, 
I  shall  have  the  letter  forwarded  immediately.  And  I  trust 
you  to  advise  Baron  Eexelaer  for  the  best."  He  had  caught 
the  sneer;  he  did  not  again  speak  of  "  my  cousin."  But  he 
smiled  again. 

"  For  the  best,"  repeated  Strum,  "  most  certainly. 
Which  is  also  your  best.  Mynheer  the  Count,  as  I  hope  you 
will  remember  later  on."  He  got  away  from  the  bed  and 
went,  as  an  afterthought,  to  open  the  door  for  his  visitor. 
"  I  must  congratulate   your   Excellency,"  he   said   in   his 


YOUNG   REINOUT.  lY 

awkwardest  manner  "  on  the  result  of  your  preoccupation 
of  last  week." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  asked  Count  Rexelaer,  stopping, 
in  genuine  surprise,  on  the  little  landing. 

"  I  heard  it  talked  of  at  the  '  White  '  Club." 

"  Ah,  you  go  there  ?  " 

"  Only  on  business.  I  hate  such  places.  My  stay  here 
is  over,  and  I  return  to  Deynum  to-night." 

"  Indeed  ?     Then  I  was  fortunate.     Bon  voyage." 

"  I  thank  your  Excellency." 

"  Not  Excellency."  Count  Hilarius  paused  again,  this  time 
in  the  dim  light  of  the  ladder-like  staircase.  "  That  is  alto- 
gether a  different  thing.  Allow  me  to  explain.  Excellency  is 
a  title  reserved  for  the  very  highest  charges  only.  I  am  a.])- 
pointed  a  Lord  Comptroller  of  the  Household.  There  are 
two.     But  they  have  by  no  means  the  title  of  Excellency." 

"  I  am  infinitely  obliged  to  you  for  the  information. 
Mynheer  the  Count,"  replied  Strum ;  and  then  he  closed 
his  door.  "  I  did  not  tell  him  how  they  talked  of  it,"  he 
thought.  And  then  he  mimicked  the  Count's  manner. 
"  Allow  me  to  explain.  I  am  appointed  a  Lord  Comptroller 
of  the  Household.  Bah,  what  a  fool  my  father  was !  And 
how  one  learns  to  despise  them  all." 

Count  Rexelaer,  meanwhile,  went  skijiping  blithely 
home.  "So  it  is  talked  of  already,"  he  told  himself. 
"Everywhere.  And  this  foolish  fellow  called  me  Excel- 
lency." Ah  well,  excelsior !  Someday  the  greater  glory 
will  outshine  the  less.  Who  used  to  say  that,  by-the-bye  ? 
Oh,  old  Sir  Percy  Skefton  at  Rio.  I  suppose  it  was  a  quo- 
tation from  somebody." 

A  few  days  later  Baron  Rexelaer  van  Deynum,  who,  by- 
the-bye,  was  in  no  way  related  to  his  namesake,  the  Count, 
received  a  letter  from  the  Hague.  He  frowned  over  it,  and 
crumpled  it,  and  cruslied  it  away  in  his  pocket.  And 
there  he  remembered  it. 


CHAPTER   III. 

DEYXUM. 

Ox  the  evening  which  brought  the  Marquis  to  Deynum, 
Baron  Rexelaer  had  been  down  to  the  village.  "  Good-even- 
ing, Laudheer,"  *  said  a  peasant,  touching  his  cap. 

The  old  Baron  did  not  hear.  He  walked  slowly,  stoop- 
ing forward,  and  his  hands,  which  held  a  paper,  Avere 
folded  behind  his  back.  He  was  a  man  nearer  sixty  than 
fifty,  old-fashioned  in  appearance  and  apparel,  a  man  of 
clear-cut  features,  which  had  been  still  further  sharpened 
by  the  delicate  chisel  of  Care. 

The  peasant,  an  old  man  also,  turned  to  stare  after  his 
master  with  leisurely  surj)rise.  Then  he  shook  his  head 
lengthily  as  he  resumed  his  slouching  way. 

The  road  was  a  long  one.  It  came  creeping  down, 
white  and  thin,  from  the  wooded  hillocks  against  the  dim 
horizon,  and  stretched  itself,  as  one  that  takes  possession, 
right  across  many  miles  of  purple  heath  ;  then  it  broadened 
out,  straight  and  hard,  past  the  village,  and  curled  away 
into  nothing  among  the  distant  trees  of  the  park. 

The  village  lay,  trim  and  prosperous,  red-roofed  and 
green-shuttered,  in  two  rows,  behind  equal  strips  of  narrow 
garden,  on  each  side  of  the  road.  These  patches  of  ground, 
though  chiefly  devoted  to  cabbages  and  cauliflowers,  shone 
bright  here  and  there  in  great  splotches  of  crimson  and  violet. 
The  gardens  Avere  silent.  The  cottages  were  silent.  Only, 
occasionally,  some  humble  figure,  in  white  cap  and  print- 
Lord  of  the  Soil,  equivalent  to  Laird. 


DEYNUM.  19 

gown,  would  come  running  out  from  a  half-open  door,  and 
hurry  round  to  the  back  with  a  pail  or  a  platter.  On  a 
small  green,  over  which  the  church  rose  gaunt  and  bare,  a 
little  knot  of  urchins  cowered,  chatting  sedately.  They 
stumbled  to  their  feet,  in  a  languid  manner,  as  the  lord  of 
the  land  went  by,  and  Jerked  their  caps  in  half  a  dozen  va- 
ried postures  of  clumsiness. 

He  had  not  noticed  them.  Yet,  at  this  jooint,  he  paused, 
and,  slowly  turning,  took  a  deliberate  survey  of  the  village, 
from  the  windmill  which  stands  at  the  entrance,  like  a 
towering  sentinel,  its  great  brown  sails  becalmed  upon  the 
pale  blue  air,  to  the  little  low-thatched  cottage,  asleep  at 
the  farther  end,  against  the  park-enclosure — the  lame  cob- 
bler's cottage,  which  looks,  in  its  deep-sunk  humility,  as  if 
it  had  pulled  the  roof  over  its  eyes  for  shame. 

It  was  very  short  and  thin,  this  village.  And  around  it 
heath  and  woods  spread  very  far  and  wide.  An  ashen  dul- 
ness  fell  slowly  settling  upon  all  things,  such  as  follows 
when  the  shadows  lengthen  over  the  deep  gold  of  a  sunlit 
autumn  day.  A  chill  little  wind,  from  nowhere,  began  flat- 
tening out  the  soft  air. 

"  My  village,"  said  the  old  lord's  thoughts ;  and  the 
paper  crackled  between  his  nervous  hands.  All  Deynum 
was  his.  It  was  little  Deynum.  To  him  it  was  neither  big 
nor  little.     It  was  all  Deynum. 

Beyond  the  village,  as  has  been  already  said,  the  road 
led  away  into  the  castle-grounds.  You  found  yourself  sud- 
denly among  the  tall  trees,  on  both  sides,  in  the  half-light 
shaded  and  solemn.  A  moment  ago  you  could  still  have 
seen  them  rising,  from  the  flat  fields  all  around,  in  a  great 
bouquet  of  rounded  verdure,  like  an  offering  from  earth  to 
her  Maker.  The  park  was  not  large,  compared  to  many 
others,  but  its  wide-spreading  oaks  and  beeches  were  reck- 
oned among  the  oldest  in  Holland.  It  was  open  to  the 
})ublic  road,  excepting  for  a  deep,  dry  ditch  alongside,  and 
presently  you  happed  upon  the  avenue,  which,  witliout 
:5 


20  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

lodge  or  gate  or  even  stone  of  warning,  stretched  broad  and 
stately  from  before  your  siglit  to  a  dark-brown  sjoot  in  the 
distance — the  house.  The  owner  of  the  place — for  as  such 
the  world  still  regarded  him — turned  gently  in  the  direc- 
tion of  home.  It  was  colder  here,  under  the  great  trees. 
He  shivered  slightly. 

A  pretty  peasant-girl,  bright  and  healthy,  with  a  face  of 
"  milk  and  blood,"  came  tripping  down  a  side-path.  "  Good- 
evening,  LiiJidheer,"  she  said.  But  she  also  got  no  answer; 
she  threw  up  her  dainty  nose  indignantly,  and  repeated  the 
words  in  a  higher  key.  The  old  gentleman  started,  and 
coloured  over  his  thin  cheeks. 

"  Good-even,  good-even,  Lise ! "  he  said  hurriedly,  re- 
calling now  the  words  he  had  at  first  ignored.  "  I  had  not 
noticed  you ;  I  am  sorry  for  it.  You  look  prettier  than 
ever,  little  maid.     How  goes  it  with  the  bridegroom?" 

"  The  bridegroom  is  well  enough,  ^Mynheer  the  Baron," 
replied  the  girl,  laughing.  "  Were  his  pockets  as  full  as 
his  cheeks,  there  would  be  no  cause  to  delay  the  wed- 
ding." 

"  Many  things  would  be  easier,  girl,"  said  the  old  man 
musingly,  "did  purses  not  run  dry." 

"  But  we  hope,  nevertheless,  to  trouble  Father  Bulbius 
before  St.  John  comes  round  again."  The  girl  had  the 
privilege  of  her  good  looks,  and  she  used  it.  "  Perhaps 
your  Worship)  will  deign  to  dance  at  the  wedding,"  she 
said. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  the  Baron  gave  hasty  answer ;  "  good-even, 
my  child !  Tell  your  father  I  have  spoken  to  the  bailiff. 
He  can  have  that  stroke  of  land  he  asked  for.  Good-bye  ! " 
and  he  resumed  his  thoughtful  walk.  "  Dance,"  he  re- 
peated ;  "  the  very  word,  forsooth.  Other  dolls  will  be  set 
a-dancing,*  before  that  time  comes  round." 

He  struck  aside — half-way  down  the  avenue — into  an 

*  Dutch  idiom. 


DEYNUM.  21 

alley  of  soaring  chestnuts,  broadest  green,  with  an  occa- 
sional dab  of  golden  orange,  as  if  an  early  imp  of  autumnal 
mischief  had  frolicked  along  the  trees.  At  the  farther  end 
of  this  alley — "  the  Holy  Walk,"  they  call  it — hidden  away 
in  the  leafy  silence  of  the  woods — sleeps  a  small  grey 
chajDel,  ivy-covered,  fern-surrounded,  an  almost  perfect  bit 
of  early  Gothic,  fairly  well-preserved. 

Its  oaken  door  stood  ajar;  the  old  Baron  pushed  softly 
through,  from  the  ashen  calm  of  the  park  into  the  dusky 
repose  of  the  sanctuary. 

A  little  greystone  chapel,  with  half  a  dozen  stained-glass 
windows,  a  chapel  of  the  dead,  every  available  space  upon  its 
narrow  floor  and  walls  heaped  up  with  monumental  records 
in  marble,  metal  or  wood.  A  Roman  Catholic  chapel,  as 
shown  by  its  ornamented  altar,  which  bore  an  ivory  crucifix 
and  two  vases  of  pale-white  roses,  pure  and  fragrant.  Over 
the  altar,  amidst  a  blaze  of  colour,  and  furthermore,  in  cor- 
ners and  cornices,  on  monuments  and  praying-stools, — or 
and  argent  upon  a  field  of  sinople,  protruding  one  above 
the  other  from  either  side  of  the  shield, — the  two  lion's 
paws  with  uplifted  swords,  the  Coat  of  the  Rexelaers.  And 
under  the  Coat  the  motto :  Ipsa  glorior  infamia.  I  glory 
in  my  shame. 

Stumbling  forward  in  the  heavy  twilight,  the  old  noble 
sank  down  reverently  at  the  altar-steps.  He  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands,  which  still  held  the  crumpled  paper,  and 
liis  cheeks  moved  nervously,  in  the  silence  of  his  prayer. 
It  was  all  very  peaceful  and  hushed,  but  for  a  faint  sough- 
ing, from  time  to  time,  in  the  trees.  A  squirrel  peeped  in 
for  a  moment,  with  bright,  inquisitive  eye,  and  then  scam- 
pered away  in  alarm — awe-struck  by  the  stillness. 

The  Baron  van  Rexelaer  was  praying  for  himself,  in  his 
weary  middle  age,  for  the  few  still  near  and  dear  to  him, 
for  the  great  name  he  bore  so  weakly.  He  was  praying  for 
the  illustrious  dead,  his  goodly  heritage  that  none  could 
take  from  him,  for  the  old  home,  fast  sinking  away  into  the 


'2-2  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

marsh  of  social  ruin,  for  tlie  villagers  of  Deynum,  his  chil- 
dren every  one ! 

The  little  chapel  was  heavy  with  the  petition. 

From  behind  the  plates  on  which  their  pompous  digni- 
ties stand  graven  the  dead  lords  of  the  soil  came  slipping 
forth,  in  their  armour  and  slashed  doublets,  in  their  long 
robes  and  ruffles,  noiselessly  crowding  together,  as  they 
rapidly  filled — with  bended  knee  and  head — the  small  space 
round  tlie  last  scion  of  their  line.  Eeinout  Rexelaer  sank 
forward  to  the  ground,  and  his  prayer  came  fast  and 
thick : 

"  Oh,  let  it  go  up,  my  God  !  Blessed  saints  in  heaven, 
pray  for  me  that  it  go  up  at  last !  " 

The  "  it  "  was  the  American  money-market. 

Presently,  his  orisons  being  concluded,  the  Baron  quit- 
ted the  chapel,  and  climbed  to  a  rustic  seat  a  little  beyond, 
on  the  top  of  a  mound  which  we,  in  our  pancake-like  flat- 
ness, have  dignified  with  the  name  of  "  The  Mountain." 
You  get  a  good  view  of  the  Castle  from  here.  But  by  the 
time  the  Baron  reached  the  spot,  nothing  much  was  dis- 
tinguishable beyond  a  confused  mass  of  angles  and  gables, 
a  greater  darkness  against  the  dark,  and,  standing  out  above 
it  all,  still  clearly  visible, — as  it  often  is  for  miles  around, 
whenever  you  get  a  break  in  the  foliage, — the  great  ball  of 
the  summit  as  borne  by  Atlas,  for  full  three  hundred  years, 
upon  his  never-wearying  shoulders. 

A  rest  upon  "  The  Mountain "  formed  the  invariable 
finale  of  the  Baron's  afternoon  walk.  The  rural  postman 
purposely  passed  by  it,  on  his  way  through  the  grounds,  for 
of  late  the  arrival  of  the  evening  mail  had  become  the  one 
important  event  of  Mynheer  van  Eexelaer's  long  day.  He 
sat  and  waited.  Alas,  the  nights  were  lengthening  down- 
wards, dark  and  chill.  Soon  it  would  be  too  late  to  deci- 
pher anything. 

Xo  need  of  daylight  to  make  out  the  crumpled  paper 


DEYNUM.  23 

lying  upon  his  knees.     He  had  re-read  it  frequently,  and 
always  angrily,  within  the  last  three  days. 

"  High  and  Nobly-Born  Heer  :  I  take  the  liberty, 
acting  for  the  High-Born  *  Heer  Count  Eexelaer,  my  client, 
to  re-open  a  correspondence  which  your  Nobleness  closed  a 
couple  of  years  ago.  Count  Rexelaer's  reason  for  wishing 
me  to  do  so  is  that  it  has  occurred  to  His  High-Born  Count- 
ship  that  circumstances  may  have  supervened  of  late  which 
might  modify  your  views  of  his  original  offer,  were  he  now 
to  repeat  it.  His  High-Born  Countship  therefore  requests 
me  to  inform  your  Nobleness  that  he  is  still  as  willing  as 
formerly  to  enter  into  negotiations  for  the  purchase  of  the 
Castle  and  Manor  of  Deynum." 

The  letter  was  signed  by  a  Hague  Notary,  Klarens — old 
Klarens  who  did  everything  for  the  Court  people  in  those 
days.     It  was  dated  October  3rd. 

The  old  Baron  knew  all  about  Count  Rexelaer  of  the 
Hague.     He  did  not  believe  in  Count  Eexelaer. 

"  He  has  heard  of  Borck's  offer  to  buy  the  Chalk-house 
Farm,"  reflected  the  Baron  bitterly,  for  the  fiftieth  time. 
"  He  might  have  waited  to  hear  that  I  shall  refuse  it." 

And  then  his  thoughts  wandered  to  Lise,  whose  father 
lived  at  the  Chalk-house  Farm.  He  was  annoyed  with  him- 
self for  having  overlooked  her  salute. 

"  I  am  forfeiting  my  position  too  soon,"  he  said  bitterly. 
"  I  must  look  to  it.  Trouble  deprives  a  man  of  everything, 
excepting  of  himself." 

And  then  the  muffled  tread  of  the  postman  absorbed  his 
attention,  as  it  came  twisting  up  among  the  trees.  The  man 
stopped  and  slung  round  his  bag. 

"  Nothing  but  the  evening-paper.  Baron,"  he  said,  "  and 
a  letter  for  Mevrouw." 

*  For  some  mysterious  reason  "  High-Born,"  on  tlie  Continent,  is  a 
more  exalted  title  than  "  High  and  Nobly-Boni." 


>_>4  THE   tJREATF.R   CiLOllY. 

The  evening-paper  was  all  the  Baron  wanted.  He  fum- 
bled tremulously  in  his  pockets  for  a  box  of  matches  he 
knew  to  be  there.  He  could  not  find  them.  The  postman 
lingered,  iincertain  how  to  help. 

''  tJo,"  said  the  old  man  impatiently.  "Go  on  with  your 
work.     I  mean,  thank  you,  Jacob.     Good-night." 

Left  in  peace,  he  found  his  matches,  and,  bending  over 
the  wooden  bench,  under  the  whispering  of  the  mighty 
trees,  struck  a  light.  He  passed  it  rapidly  down  the  column 
devoted  to  the  day's  Amsterdam  Exchange. 

"Down  again,  by  God  !"  he  said.  And  then  the  match 
went  out,  and  all  was  dark. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    KEXELAERS    OF    DEYXUM. 

There  have  always  been  Rexelaers  of  Deynum.  There 
are  stilL  You  can  read  about  them  in  the  Aunuaire  de  la 
Noblesse  des  Pays-Bas.     But  probably  you  know. 

If  you  do  not,  you  may  as  well  lay  down  this  book :  it 
does  not  address  itself  to  you.  It  is  written  for  a  set. 
Ours. 

The  Rexelaers  have  intermarried  with  some  of  the  great 
continental  families,  and  are  well-known  in  Germany  and 
France.  In  fact,  they  themselves  are — or  were — a  great  con- 
tinental family.  For  Willem  van  Rexelaer  (grandson  of  the 
founder  of  the  house),  who  remained  with  the  Roman  King 
Willem  of  Holland  all  through  the  long  siege  of  Aix  la  Cha- 
l^elle,  was  rewarded,  on  the  day  of  his  master's  coronation, 
by  the  bestowal  of  the  somewhat  unwilling  hand  of  the 
heiress  of  the  Hohenthals,  whose  father  and  brother  had 
fallen  on  the  opposite  side.  It  was  this  marriage  which 
brought  the  fief  of  Hohenthal  >Sonnenborn  into  the  family, 
making  the  head  of  the  house  a  Count  of  the  Holy  Roman 
Empire,  with  the  title  of  "  Erlaucht."  But  that  exalted 
rank  fell  away  from  them,  some  two  and  a  half  centuries 
later,  when  they  got  into  trouble  with  the  Habsburger  Max- 
imilian. There  is  a  long  correspondence  in  the  Archives  at 
Brussels  showing  how  they  plotted  to  get  it  back  again,  and 
perhaps  they  might  have  succeeded,  had  not  Anne  van  Rex- 
elaer joined  the  Compromise  of  the  Nobles.  Good  Catholic 
as  this  powei'ful  nobleman  was,  he  would  hardly  have  es- 
caped the  fate  of  Counts  Egmont  and  Hoorn,  had  he  not 


20  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

claimed,  and  obtained,  the  protection  of  his  mother's  cousin 
(and  his  own  god-fatlier),  the  Great  Constable  of  France. 
You  may  look  up  all  that  in  Motley,  if  you  care  to.  It  is 
hardly  worth  while. 

Most  truly  they  had  been  an  illustrious  family.  At  the 
time  of  this  story  they  had  dwindled  down  to  a  quiet  old 
man,  his  wife  and  only  daughter.  And,  shameful  to  relate, 
they  were  j^oor. 

Ah,  those  were  different  times  when  Euwert  van  Rexe- 
laer  sat  enthroned  in  the  Castle  at  Deynum,  with  thirty 
horses  in  his  stables,  and  seventeen  serving-men  before  his 
side-board,  in  green  and  gold.  And  when  Eovert  van 
Eexelaer,  his  brother — the  renegade ;  God  forgive  him !  the 
Protestant — having  followed,  like  his  ancestor  of  Hohen- 
thal,  another  Dutch  William  to  the  conquest  of  another 
kingdom,  rejected,  in  his  pride,  the  alien  honours  that 
monarch  would  have  conferred  upon  him.  "  I  will  make 
you  a  peer  of  England,"  said  William  of  Orange.  "  You 
shall  be  Baron  Butterworth ! "  "Of  William  the  Third's 
creation,"  rei)lied  Rovert,  with  low  obeisance,  and  sank 
back  in  disgrace.  He  did  not  Avant  a  peerage.  What  he 
wanted,  and  had  schemed  for,  like  his  ancestors,  was  the 
revival  of  the  Roman  Countship,  not  for  himself  but  for  the 
elder  brother,  whose  doors  he  could  never  darken  again.  If 
ambition  had  prompted  his  secession — as  some  still  think  it 
did — it  could  hardly  have  been  hope  of  personal  aggrandise- 
ment. 

The  Rexelaers  had  stuck  to  the  old  faith.  And,  as  far 
as  enforced  retirement  goes,  they  had  suffered  for  their  con- 
stancy. Thereby  hangs  the  tale  of  the  strange  motto  be- 
neath their  arms.  When  Anne  van  Rexelaer's  son  Eduard 
found  himself  deprived  of  his  dignities  by  Prince  Maurice, 
successor  to  "  the  Silent " — for  so  did  they  still  go  dropping 
between  two  stools — he  withdrew  in  high  dudgeon  to  his 
castle  and  carved  over  its  portal  the  sentence  :  "  Ipsa  glorior 
infamia."    "  I  glory  in  my  disgrace."     They  left  him  to 


THE  REXELAERS  OF  DEYNUM.         27 

his  glory.  And  the  words  may  be  seen  this  day  Avhere 
Ednard  van  Rexelaer  placed  them. 

The  device,  therefore,  like  most  heraldic  mottoes,  is 
comparatively  modern.  It  seems  all  the  more  so,  if  you 
accord  credence  to  the  story  of  the  coat  itself.  You  are 
asked  to  believe — not  by  me,  mind  you,  though  my  son  has 
the  genuine  Rexelaer  blood  in  his  veins,  however  spurious 
mine  may  be — you  are  asked  to  believe  that  the  Christian 
maiden  Wendela,  having  been  confined  by  a  heathen  prince 
in  his  stronghold  on  the  Rhine,  was  delivered  by  a  lion, 
which  penetrated  into  her  chamber,  a  flaming  sword  in 
either  fore-paw.  An  eighteenth  century  Rexelaer,  in  a  wig 
and  a  Voltairean  nose,  wrote  a  j^amphlet  to  prove  that  the 
story  had  been  misunderstood.  It  belonged  to  the  time  of 
the  Crusaders,  he  said,  not  to  that  of  the  Romans 
(a.  d.  237),  and  the  lion  in  question  was  no  four-foot- 
ed animal,  but  a  lion-hearted  knight  of  that  surname  and 
crest. 

The  other  version  is  the  prettier  one.  None  of  the 
Rexelaers  have  perhaps  ever  dared  to  believe  it  as  much  as 
they  wanted  to.  Nor  would  many  of  them  have  cared  to 
swear  by  their  patron  saint  that  their  name  was  really  de- 
rived from  Rex  Hilarius,  this  same  King  Hilarius  having 
been  baptised — after  an  unaccountable  lapse  of  the  family 
into  heathenism — in  500  and  something  by  an  old  French 
priest  who  had  named  him  in  pious  recollection  of  Bishop 
Hilary  of  Aries.  It  was  all  very  beautiful  and  deliciously 
improbable,  and  one  clung  to  it  and  might  have  died  for  it, 
but,  as  to  believing  it — well,  the  Crusading  ancestor,  the 
first  Willem's  grandfather,  was  an  historic  fact,  and  surely 
he  ought  to  have  sufficed  for  the  requirements  of  the  proud- 
est, or  the  vainest,  heart. 

And  what  now  was  left  of  it  all  ?  The  old  liaron  shook 
his  head,  as  he  passed  over  the  bridge  to  the  house.  Not 
that  ho  had  been  recapitulating,  as  he  went,  the  long  his- 
tory of  the  Rexelaers.     He  had  no  need  to  do   so.     His 


OS  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

heart  was  a  burial-<]:round  of  the  race,  on  which  all 
the  Aviudows  of  his  thoughts  afforded  an  unconscious  out- 
loolv. 

"  Mon  cher,"  said  the  Baroness  genth',  "  his  Reverence 
has  waited." 

The  Baron  winced.  He  was  a  military  veteran  and  had 
seen  something  of  life — not  much — in  his  day ;  he  had 
never  yet  learned  to  accept  a  reproach  from  a  woman,  with- 
out a  tendency  to  blush.  And  the  Baroness  was  not  one  of 
those  who  accustom  you  to  rejjroaches. 

"I  was  delayed,"  replied  the  Baron  humbly.  "His 
Reverence  will  forgive  a  man  of  many  occupations."  He 
offered  his  arm  to  his  wife  with  an  odd  little,  old-fashioned 
bow,  and  the  priest,  who  took  life  reposefully,  grinned  a 
good-humoured  grin  over  the  earnestness  with  which  his 
patron  created  a  round  of  meaningless  duties  out  of  the 
emptiness  of  everyday  squiredom.  "  There  are  men  who 
talk  in  their  sleep  for  sheer  waste  of  activity,"  the  good 
father  was  wont  to  declare.  "  A  better  thing,  in  an  eccle- 
siastic at  any  rate,  than  to  sleep  in  his  talk,"  the  Baron  had 
once  unthinkingly  made  answer.  And  then  he  had  filled 
up  his  guest's  wine-glass,  smiling  an  apology,  as  his  eyelids 
dropped  obediently  under  the  Baroness's  dignified  surprise. 

"  Come,  Wanda,"  said  Father  Bulbius,  crooking  his  arm 
at  as  wide  an  angle  as  he  could  manage  from  the  rotundity 
of  his  rusty  black  coat. 

But  the  daughter  of  the  house,  a  girl  of  twelve  with  a 
mass  of  brown  hair  and  big  brown  eyes,  drew  pettishly 
away  from  him.  "  Xo,  thank  you,"  she  said.  "  You  hurt 
my  shoulder  last  time,  squeezing  through  the  doorway." 
And  she  ran  on  in  front.  "  I  don't  like  priests,"  she  said 
to  herself  in  the  passage. 

The  meal  was  a  simple  one ;  but  for  its  surroundings  of 
old  plate  and  older  oak  you  would  have  called  it  poor. 
These  people  belonged  to  that  daily  decreasing  class  vrho  can- 


TUE  REXELAEKS  OF  DEYNUM.         29 

not  live  poorly ;  their  pomp  is  themselves.  The  Baron 
would  have  pitied  you,  not  his  wife,  had  you  noticed  the 
simplicity  of  the  menu.  And  even  fat  Father  Bulbius, 
dearly  though  he  loved  a  good  dinner,  was  happy  in  the 
eating  of  a  bad  one  amidst  the  quiet  dignity  of  immemorial 
pride.  Besides,  was  there  not  always  the  "  King's  Wine  " 
nowadays,  to  gladden  sinking  hearts?  You  cannot  miss 
hearing  about  the  "  King's  Wine."  The  Baron  was  always 
referring  to  it. 

To-day,  however,  the  Baron  referred  to  nothing,  but  left 
to  his  wife  the  unlaborious  task  of  entertaining  their  famil- 
iar guest.  The  entertainment  was  single ;  for  many  years 
it  had  been  based,  by  mutual  consent,  upon  alternate  mon- 
ologue. 

"  At  last  then,"  emphasized  the  Baroness,  slowly  shaking 
her  white  side-curls,  and  the  white  ribbons  on  her  white 
cap,  "  I  carry  out  my  threat  of  complaining  to  your  Rever- 
ence, though  I  do  so  with  the  deepest  regret." 

She  was  not  really  an  old  woman,  by-the-bye,  not  more 
than  five  and  fifty,  but  her  hair  had  been  a  silvery  white  for 
nearly  twenty  years,  and  she  had  set  herself  early  to  wear  it 
gracefully.  She  wished  to  be  old  and  to  mortify  the  flesh. 
At  least  so  she  told  herself  and  Father  Bulbius. 

"  So  far,  Madame,  I  am  altogether  with  you,"  answered 
the  Father.  He  always  said  that  to  the  Baroness  Rexelaer. 
"  And  as  I  was  telling  the.  Baron,  I  cannot  understand  why 
my  celery  is  not  a  success.  I  have  followed  out  his  instruc- 
tions exactly."  He  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair  with  a 
sigh,  and  his  amplitude  seemed  to  ooze  out  all  around  him. 
"  I  have  constantly  dug  it  up  and  put  it  into  something  else. 
In  April  I  took  one  of  my  few  meat-dishes  for  it,  and  Ve- 
ronica made  my  life  a  burthen  to  me  forthwith." 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  for  his  wine-glass  and  laughed 
heartily,  and  wiped  his  mouth. 

"  And  the  school-children,  if  they  refuse  to  listen,  must 
be  made  to  feel,"  said  the  Baroness  distinctly. 


30  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

The  Father  luul  one  udvantage  over  lier,  inasmuch  as  ho 
poured  forth  his  words  like  a  torrent,  wliile  she  dropped 
hers  one  by  one,  as  from  a  medicine-tube.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  would  invariably  flounder  astray  in  his  own  mul- 
tiloqnence,  and  then  she  saw  her  opportunity  and  took  it. 

"■  But,  then,  I  did  listen,"  he  rejilied.  "For  in  May,  ac- 
cording to  the  Baron's  instructions — "  He  looked  towards 
the  Baron.  The  Baron  looked  down  at  his  plate.  The 
old  gentleman  could  not  attend.  "  And  seven  eights,"  he 
was  saying  to  himself,  "  one  dollar  ;  two  fifty ;  multiply  by 
twelve.     And  seven  eights — " 

"  I  emptied  out  my  single  cucumber-frame  for  it.  And 
Veronica  tells  me  she  is  dying  for  want  of  cucumbers.  Dur- 
ing centuries,  it  appears,  they  have  formed  a  remedy  in  her 
family  for  some  mysterious  hereditary  ailment.  And  I  feel 
like  a  murderer.  Mynheer,  till  your  head-gardener  comes 
and  tells  me  that  the  celery  is  dying  in  the  cucumber-frame, 
and  must  be  buried  in  trenches  at  once." 

The  child  looked  across  at  him  with  solemn  eyes,  and 
spoke  for  the  first  time.  "  I  buried  my  canary,  too,"  she 
said  gravely.     "  Last  week.     But  it  was  dead  first." 

ISTobody  paid  any  attention  to  her.  The  shaded  light 
from  the  old  silver  oil-lamp  played — gently  reflected  from 
napery  and  crystal — upon  the  four  faces  round  the  table  : 
the  sallow,  serious  cheeks  of  the  little  girl,  and  her  mother's 
calm  white  brow,  the  priest's  fat  double  chin,  with  its  pim- 
ple, the  Baron's  bent  nose,  bent  head,  bent  everything. 

That  little  red  excrescence  on  the  Father's  chin  was  an 
old  acquaintance  of  Wendela's.  She  used  to  wonder  of 
what  it  was  made  and  why.  But  now  she  knew.  For,  one 
day,  in  the  drawing-room — she  could  have  pointed  out  the 
exact  spot — its  horrid  little  specks  and  dents  had  suddenly 
resolved  themselves  before  her  fascinated  gaze  into  a  minia- 
ture face,  like  the  Father's.  She  had  never  lost  sight  of 
the  similitude.  It  laughed  with  the  Father's  laugh ;  it 
frowned  with  his  froAvn,  and  all  the  time  he  was  talking,  it 


THE  REXELAERS  OP  DEYNUM.         31 

would  wink  with  each  movement  of  his  chin,  as  much  as  to 
say  :  "  Don't  believe  him."  It  was  a  little  Baby  Bulbius, 
as  she  had  told  her  great  friend  and  admirer,  Piet 
Poster.  "  Priests  don'  have  babies,"  said  matter-of-fact 
Piet. 

"  And  seven-eighths,"  reasoned  the  Baron  silently  with 
knitted  brows,  "seven  times  two  and  a  half,  seventeen  hun- 
dred and  fifty.     Let  me  fill  your  glass,  Bulbius." 

"  And  they  pop  up  out  of  their  graves  almost  as  fast  as 
you  bury  them.  If  there's  too  much  of  them  visible,  they 
lose  their  colour :  if  there's  too  little,  they  choke.  No.  I 
am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  dear  Baron.  Besides,  I  be- 
lieve your  gardener  hoped  they  would  fail." 

The  child  had  been  pondering  intently.  "  It's  a  riddle," 
she  said  now.  "  What  lives  best  for  being  buried  ?  What 
lives  best  for  being  buried.  Papa?" 

The  Baron  aroused  himself  at  this  direct  appeal.  "  A 
great  name,"  he  said. 

The  child  clapped  her  hands  with  elfish  glee.  "  Wrong  !  " 
she  cried.     "  Quite  wrong.     English  sedlery." 

"  Celery,"  corrected  the  Baroness.  "  I  wish  you  would 
listen  to  me.  Father.  Surely  it  is  a  terrible  thought  that 
the  children  should  bring  down  damnation  upon  them- 
selves— " 

"  Undoubtedly,"  acquiesced  the  Father.  "  But,  tlien, 
fortunately,  the  good  God  has  made  it  so  difficult  for  them 
to  do  it." 

"  I  cannot  imagine  your  condoning  their  laughing  in 
church," — there  was  the  faintest  tinge  of  vexation  in  the 
lady's  tone.  The  first  article  of  their  unspoken  contract 
precluded  interruption. 

"  Mevrouw,  I  condone  nothing,"  replied  Father  Bulbius 
good-humouredly.  "I  exact  penance  for  every  sin  con- 
fessed. The  less  confessed  the  better.  The  less  that  re- 
quire confession,  I  mean,  of  course.  The  better  for  the 
guilty  party,  for   everybody  " — he  yawned.     "  The  King's 


32  THE   GREATER   (5 LORY. 

wine  is  the  King's  wine  still,"  he  said  to  the  b.iron.  He 
did  not  care  for  the  Baroness  to  play  curate. 

"  Le  Roi  est  mort ;  vive  le  lloi !  "  replied  the  Baron  sol- 
emnly. He  threw  up  his  hand  for  the  military  salute  and 
touched  his  wine-glass  with  his  lips.  As  he  did  so,  an  old 
servant,  who  stood  by  the  side-board,  saluted  too. 

"  Le  roi  est  mort;  vive  son  viu,"  murmured  the  ecclesi- 
astic, with  goggle-eyes  dancing  over  the  rim  of  liis  bumper. 
His  j)ronunciation  was  bad.  The  Baron  frowned.  The 
Baron  tliought  his  sentiment  was  worse. 

"And  what,  I  say,  is  to  become  of  discipline,  if  they 
openly  laugh  at  the  priest  ?  " 

"  Hull  ? "  ejaculated  the  Father,  whirling  round  to  my 
lady.  "  Who  laughs  at  the  priest  ?  "  And  he  glared  across 
at  Wendela.  He  put  on  a  most  comical  look  of  indigna- 
tion, and  the  pimple  immediately  did  the  same.  The  child 
could  not  help  laughing.  The  priest  had  one  of  those  vari- 
able india-rubber  countenances  which  remain  comical  even 
when  they  cry.  They  are  made  in  a  limited  number  of 
tints.     His  was  purple.     The  olive-green  are  best. 

"I  have  been  striving  for  the  last  ten  minutes,"  said  the 
Baroness  complacently,  triumphant  in  her  ultimate  suc- 
cess, "  to  tell  your  Reverence  that  of  late  the  village-chil- 
dren in  the  gallery  have  taken  to  laughing  while  you 
preach." 

"  But  Me — Mevrouw  !  "  spluttered  his  Reverence.  He 
was  really  disconcerted.     "  I  can  hardly  believe — " 

"  Yes,  Gertrude,  you  are  surely  mistaken,"  interjjosed 
the  Baron,  who  had  at  last  finished  his  computation  of  the 
day's  deficit. 

"  I  am  not  mistaken,  and  it  must  be  put  a  stop  to,"  said 
the  Baroness. 

"  It  is  his  Reverence's  own  fault,"  said  the  child. 

There  was  a  general  outcry.  "  AYendela,  you  forget 
yourself,"  said  the  mother  sharply.  "  Wendela,  little  maiden, 
how  do  vou  mean?"  asked  the  Baron. 


THE  REXELAERS  OF  DEYNUM.         33 

"  Shall  I  tell  ?  "  said  the  child,  out  loud.  She  was  look- 
ing at  the  pimple ;  and  the  pimple  winked  at  her. 

"  There's  a  hole  in  the  velvet  cap  his  Eeverence  wears  at 
sermon-time,"  she  continued  slowly,  "  and  his  Reverence's 
hairs  stick  out  in  tufts.  Sometimes  they  stick  out  in  two 
tufts  and  sometimes  in  three.  And  the  boys — bet."  The 
stress  she  laid  upon  the  venerable  title  would  have  been  un- 
conscionably naughty,  had  the  Baroness  not  believed  it  im- 
possible. 

"  Gracious  Heavens ! "  ejaculated  the  shepherd  of  the 
school-children's  souls. 

"  Marbles,  and — lollipops,  and  things,"  she  went  on 
hastily,  now  thoroughly  frightened  at  her  own  audacity. 
"  Last  Sunday  there  was  only  one  tuft,  so  none  of  the  bets 
could  count." 

The  Father  rumpled  his  grey  locks  in  manifest  distress. 
They  formed  an  untidy  fringe  round  his  bald  red  head,  and 
he  had  long  insulted  and  despised  them.  He  now  tried  to 
pretend  that  they  did  not  belong  to  him.  With  but  jiartial 
success. 

"  But  my  dear  little  one,"  said  the  Baron  mildly,  "  you 
cannot  know  these  things.  You  must  be  making  them 
up." 

"  Papa  !  " — she  flushed  scarlet — "  Papa  ! "  In  the  ensu- 
ing silence,  she  felt  that  any  avowal  would  be  jn-eferable  to 
the  imputation  of  untruthfulness.  "  Piet  Poster  told  me," 
she  murmured. 

"  For  shame,  Wendela,"  said  her  mother.  "  Let  us  hear 
no  more  about  it.  Try  a  fig,  Father.  They  are  not  as  good 
as  Veronica's,  but  even  hers  are  not  equal  to  the  figs  of  my 
youth." 

"  Quite  so,"  answered  the  Father,  who  was  angry  with 
his  housekeeper,  suspecting  some  spite  in  her  neglect  of  his 
clothes.  "  I  am  grieved,  AVanda,  by  your  intimacy  wntli 
these  blasphemous — I  say  blasphemous — children.  You 
might  be  led  into  imitating  their  wicked  ways."    He  looked 


31  THE  GREATER   GLORY. 

quite  sadly  at  her.  The  pimple  puckered  up  its  little  lips 
and  appeared  ready  to  weep. 

"  Figs,"  said  the  Baroness,  "  require  excejitional  care. 
They  are  so  apt  to  run  to  seed.". 

"  Tush,  my  dear  Father,  it  is  not  as  bad  as  that," — the 
Baron  stretched  out  his  hand  to  his  little  daughter,  moved 
by  her  distress — "  you  can  hardly  imagine  my  Wanda  wa- 
gering her  dolls  against  the  village  on  the  growth  of  your 
hair."     And  he  laughed  softly. 

But  this  was  dreadful.  Without  touching  the  out- 
stretched fingers,  Wendela  started  from  her  chair.  "  I — I 
am  afraid,"  she  explained  in  a  great  burst  of  tardy  tears, 
"there  was  just  one  little  bet,  Papa,  the  Sunday  before  last, 
with — with  Piet  Poster." 

"  Leave' the  room  immediately,"  cried  her  calm  mother, 
with  unwonted  acerbity.  "  Consider  yourself  in  disgrace ! 
Piet  Poster !  I  am  deeply  sorry  to  think  it  could  be  pos- 
sible ! " 

"  But  I — I  lost,  mamma,"  sobbed  the  culprit. 

"  That  is  hardly  an  alleviation,  though  certainly  better 
than  your  winning.  You  have  lost,  however,  a  good  deal 
more  than  your  sweets." 

"  It  was  plums,  Mamma,"  cried  Wanda,  as  she  fled  in  a 
tempest  of  angry  dismay. 

"  I  hate  priests,"  she  said  to  herself,  in  the  darkness  of 
her  own  room.  Somehow  she  laid  the  blame  of  the  whole 
miserable  business  on  Father  Bulbius's  round,  innocent 
head. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

THE    STRAXGER    COMES   TO    DEYNUM, 

"  A  PRETTY  amusement  indeed,"  said  the  Baroness  in- 
dignantly, as  the  door  closed  on  the  delinquent,  "  for  the 
heiress  of  Deynum.     Gambling  with  her  peasant-boys." 

"  On  the  subject  of  their  pastor's  wig,"  added  Bulbius 
despondently. 

"  Poor  little  heiress  of  Deynum,"  said  the  Barou. 

"  You  are  too  indulgent,  Eeynout.  I  do  not  want  to  be 
harsh,  but  there  are  limits." 

"  Indulgent  ?  "  responded  her  husband.  "  Well,  why 
not  ?  I  would  have  the  heiress  of  Deynum  enjoy  what  hap- 
piness she  can.  While  she  can."  His  voice  sank  over  the 
words.  And  it  seemed  as  if  the  dim  light  sank  with  the 
voice,  and  it  grew  still  darker  in  the  great,  dark  room. 

The  Father  gazed  down  at  his  fingers,  spread  out  upon 
the  table-cloth. 

"  Mon  ami,  you  are  out  of  sorts  to-night.  Come  let  us 
have  coffee,  and  then  you  and  his  Eeverence  can  play  your 
game  of  ecarte." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Baron,  with  an  effort ;  "  I  will  ring  the 
bell." 

And  then,  suddenly,  with  an  awkward  jerk  of  the  arm, 
he  snatched  from  his  pocket  the  letter  which  had  been  burn- 
ing a  hole  in  it  for  the  last  three  days.  "  There  !  "  he  said. 
He  flung  it  on  to  the  middle  of  the  table,  as  if  it  were  hot 
in  his  hand. 

The  priest  made  an  involuntary  movement  to  pass  the 
4 


36  THE  GREATER   GLORY. 

paper  on,  then  drew  back  agaiu.  The  Baroness  sighed,  and 
oouglied  to  hide  the  sigh. 

"  Fresh  troubles  ?"  she  said  softly.     "  Poor  husband." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  the  Baron  smiled  somewhat  fiercely. 
"  A  happy  deliverance.  Count  Hilarius  van  Rexelaer — so 
the  gentleman  calls  himself — once  more  offers  to  purchase 
Deynum,  as  he  offered  a  couple  of  years  ago." 

The  Baroness  looked  contemptuous.  "  Is  that  all  ? " 
she  said. 

"  I  suppose  he  has  heard,  somehow,  of  Borck's  proposal 
about  the  farm." 

The  lady's  j^ale  ej'es  flashed.  "  Rather  to  Borck  than  to 
that  man,"  she  said.     "  Even  almost  rather  to  Borck." 

In  sj^ite  of  his  trouble  an  amused  look  came  into  her  hus- 
band's eyes.     "  Really?  "  he  queried  incredulously. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  she  iterated,  with  vehement  passion. 
And  then  she  grew  pale  and  calm  again. 

"  But  we  shall  sell  it  to  neither,"  she  added  presently. 
"  God  is  good." 

"  Beyond  human  hope  or  prayer,  amen,"  said  the  priest 
fervently.  And  as  he  meditatively  sipped  his  wine,  his  hot 
countenance  grew  solemn  with  an  unspoken  prayer  for 
Deynum. 

A  knock  came  to  the  door.  "  There's  a  man  sent  up 
from  the  station,  Mynheer,"  said  the  baron's  old  servant. 
"  Fokke  Meinderts,  your  Worship  remembers,  old  Mother 
Meinderts'  son.  The  second  one,  that  broke  his  leg  last 
autumn — " 

"  What  does  he  want  ?  interrupted  the  Baroness.  She 
always  interrupted  Gustave.  Her  husband  never  did. 
"  You  lose  half  an  hour  a  day  by  his  meanderings,"  she  had 
once  remarked. 

"  So  I  do,'my  dear.     But  I  gain  a  good  deal  more." 

"How  so?" 

"  A  good  man's  affection." 

"  Nonsense." 


THE   STRANGER   COMES  TO   DEYNUM.  37 

"And  perhaps" — this  a  little  slily — "ten  years  sooner 
of  heaven  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  Baroness. 

"  I  will  go  and  find  out  what  he  wants,"  said  the  Master 
of  Deynum.  He  stumbled  wearily  to  his  feet,  and  imme- 
diately his  wife's  spirit  soared  to  one  of  her  pinnacles  of 
sacrifice. 

"  Let  him  come  in  here,"  she  commanded,  "  J'espere 
qu'ii  ne  sentira  pas  trop  mauvais."  Gustavo  understood 
French,  but  his  mistress  considered  he  had  no  business  to. 
And  as  for  poor  people,  she  approved  of  them  in  their  own 
homes,  where  she  diligently  visited  them. 

The  individual  who  was  now  ushered  in  appeared  at  the 
first  moment  to  be  a  mass  of  revolving  arms  and  legs.  In 
reality  he  was  an  ordinary  peasant,  confused,  bodily  as  well 
as  mentally,  by  the  Presence  in  which  he  unexpectedly 
found  himself.  And  it  seemed  as  if  a  few  right  arms  came 
jerking  from  his  shoulders,  as  he  began  : 

"  An't  please  your  Worship,  and  the  Chief  says  {i.  e.,  the 
station-master)  and  I  was  to  say  as  there's  a  dead  gentleman 
at  the  station  that  wants  to  come  to  Deynum."    He  paused. 

"  Even  the  dead,"  said  the  Father  with  a  solemn  twinkle, 
"  desire  Deynum." 

"  Leastways,  when  I  say  '  dead,'  your  Reverence,  I  mean, 
as  good  as,  or  more  probably  so  than  not.  He  wasn't,  when 
I  left,  but  he  would  be,  the  Chief  said,  before  I  got  here. 
You  understand '? " 

"  And  what  of  this  dead  man,  wdio  is  alive  ?  "  asked  the 
Baron.     "  Was  he  coming  here?     We  expect  no  one." 

The  yokel  looked  down  at  his  great,  dirty  boots. 

"  Oh  no,  he  wasn't  coming  here.  Mynheer  the  Baron. 
He  wasn't  coming  anywhere,- because  he  is  a  foreigner. 
Leastways  was,  if  he  is  dead.  'Tis  a  sin  I  should  say  it. 
But  he  can't  remain  in  the  waiting-room,  and  his  servant 
wants  to  get  him  to  the  inn,  he  says.     But  there's  ojily  a 


38  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

waggonette  at  tlie  inn,  you  know.  And  the  Chief  said  he 
thought — if  you  Avere  acquainted  with  tlie  gentleman — it 
might  be  better  like  that,  you  understand." 

Fokke  Meinderts  looked  round  upon  the  company  in 
triumph  and  executed  a  rapid  revolution,  like  a  Catherine 
wheel.     He  felt  altogether  unexpectedly  successful. 

The  Baron  started  up  eagerly.  His  weary  look  had  en- 
tirely left  him.  Already  he  saw  this  foreigner — this  gentle- 
man— left  to  die  in  the  miserable  open  shed  which  does 
duty  in  Holland  for  far  larger  stations  than  Deynum. 

"  Of  course  I "  cried  the  Baron.  "  I  am  much  obliged 
to  the  station-master.  Gustave  I  Where  is  Gustave  ?  Tell 
them  to  put  to  the  horses !  I  will  take  the  landau.  At 
once ! " 

"  But,  my  dear,  you  are  tired  I  "  ventured  his  wife. 

"  My  own,  there  is  nobody  who  can  understand  him.  It 
is  half  an  hour's  drive.  Amuse  his  Reverence,  while  I — " 
The  door  fell  to  behind  him. 

"  Dear  man,"  said  the  Baroness. 

"  Quite  so,  Madame,"  answered  Father  Bulbius  absently. 
"  So  far  I  am  altogether  with  you." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    WHITE    BARONESS. 

The  Baroness  and  her  Priest  adjourned  to  the  drawing- 
room,  there  to  await  the  development  of  what  in  their  un- 
eventful life  was  almost  an  adventure.  The  Baroness  sat 
down  to  her  nightly  game  of  "  Patience,"  and  the  Priest 
took  his  place  beside  her,  as  he  invariably  did,  when  not 
playing  ecarte  with  the  Baron.  For  they  played  ecarte. 
He  knew  that  it  ought  to  have  been  backgammon. 

But  the  Baron,  a  mild  man  in  his  pleasures,  had  re- 
tained this  weakness  for  games  with  a  pecuniary  risk.  So 
he  persuaded  the  good  father  to  stake  fivepence  a  game, 
and  the  results  of  a  long  evening's  contest  were  practically 
nil.  But  the  Baron  would  get  irritable  none  the  less  over 
his  luck,  and  many  a  time  had  the  father  confessor  decided 
to  speak  the  terrible  words  "  No  more  cards."  He  never 
did  so,  for  his  kindly  heart  sent  a  telegram  to  arrest  them 
on  his  lips.  Still,  he  thought  it  hard  lines,  when  a  few 
days  after  his  sermon  (in  a  mended  cap)  on  the  iniquity  of 
betting,  Wanda  innocently  asked  him,  as  if  the  idea  had 
just  occurred  to  her,  whether  ecarte  was  a  form  of  gam- 
bling or  not. 

Has  he  suspected  for  a  moment  that  his  patron's  foible 
had  led  that  unfortunate  gentleman  astray  from  the  courtly 
society  of  the  Kings  and  Queens  of  the  Card-table  among 
the  bulls  and  bears  of  the  stock-exchange,  he  would  have 
found  it  easier  to  settle  the  conflict  in  his  own  mind.  Tlie 
Baron  preferred  this  large  winning  from  Xobody.     He  did 


40  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

not  like  to  mulct  Bulbins,  even  of  fivepence,  though  Bulbius, 
us  his  patron  was  well  aware,  was  possessed  of  (modest)  pri- 
vate means  of  his  own. 

Xeither  did  the  Baroness  know  anything  of  her  hus- 
band's futile  hunting-excursions  in  the  howling  wilderness 
afore-mentioned.  Had  she  known,  she  would  not  have  nn- 
derstood,  and  that,  in  itself,  was  sufficient  excuse  for  his 
not  telling  her.  The  Baroness  Avas  one  of  those  women 
who  cannot  be  made  to  grasp  the  difference  between  con- 
sols and  coupons.  All  their  ideas  of  "  bonds "  and  of 
"  shares  "  are  connected  with  a  husband  and  a  home.  They 
are  none  the  stupider  for  that.  You  could  not  look  Ger- 
trude van  Eexelaer  in  the  face  and  write  her  down  a  fool. 

Nearly  forty  years  ago — through  one  crowded,  self-con- 
centrated season — she  had  been  a  Court  beauty.  Her  father, 
one  of  the  few  great  Catholic  nobles,  had  brought  her  up 
to  the  Hague  from  his  Castle  in  Limburg,  a  part  of  Holland 
which  no  Hollander  has  ever  heard  of.  And  immediately 
the  lovely  provincial  had  become,  at  all  receptions  and  en- 
tertainments, not  "  a  nice,"  but  "  that  nice  "  little  girl.  She 
stood  forth  an  object  of  attraction  to  the  other  sex,  of  de- 
traction to  her  own.  In  one  word,  her  social  success  was 
complete.  And  one  evening,  at  the  Palace,  a  chivalrous 
Monarch,  stooping  to  hand  her  a  fan  she  had  dropped  in 
her  youthful  trepidation,  requested  the  favour  of  a  dance 
for  a  beardless  and  awkward  young  officer,  who  had  caught 
his  Majesty's  kindly  eye,  as  he  hung  dangling,  forlorn, 
against  the  wall. 

So  did  Gertrude  de  Heerle  receive  her  fate  from  the 
hand  of  her  King.  The  young  officer  turned  out  to  be  a 
distant  connection,  Eeinout  van  Eexelaer.  And  a  few 
months  later  the  Beauty  exasperated  everybody,  especially 
her  father,  by  deliberately  spurning  from  her  the  well-filled 
hand  of  a  notoriously  profligate  suitor  and  accepting  the 
better-filled  heart  of  her  handsome  "cousin"  Eeinout.  The 
Eexelaers  always  married  into  the  family  if  possible,  so  as 


THE   WHITE  BARONESS.  41 

to  get  as  much  of  their  own  blood  as  the  Eubric  would 
permit. 

The  pair  were  very  poor  at  first,  to  everybody's  satisfac- 
tion ;  and  they  were  visibly  happy,  to  everybody's  disgust. 
The  "everybody"  were  a  couple  of  hundred  men  and 
women  in  society,  and  as  few  of  these  were  happy,  and  none 
of  them  were  poor,  they  had  a  right  to  protest.  Presently 
brighter  seasons  came  to  the  young  Rexelaers,  across  a 
period  of  honest  tears  and  mourning,  when  first  Eeinout's 
elder  brother  died,  and  then  his  father,  the  young  people 
shook  the  tinsel-dust  of  the  "  Residency  "  from  their  feet, 
and  the  poor  regimental  pay  out  of  their  pockets  and  went 
to  live  at  Deynum.  TiiQy  carried  away  with  them  a  health- 
ful scorn  of  the  gas-lit  glitter  of  that  bursting  bubble, 
which  you  and  I,  dear  Yicomte,  call  "  our  world." 

A  period  of  calm  prosperity  followed,  overshadowed  by 
a  gradually  descending  cloud.     They  had  no  children. 

The  Baroness  had  always  been  a  fervent  Catholic,  The 
unfulfilled  yearning  for  an  heir  deepened  her  piety  into 
devotion  and,  as  the  empty  years  sped  on,  into  bigotry. 
She  sank  into  the  hands  of  the  priests,  as  an  invalid  is  grad- 
ually fascinated  by  doctors,  resolved  to  climb  up  into 
heaven  and  wrench  down  the  blessing  withheld.  She 
fasted  and  mortified  herself,  and  even  undertook  such  short 
pilgrimages  as  were  within  her  reach.  She  would  have  gone 
Jumping  to  Echternach  but  here,  for  the  first  time,  her  hus- 
band interfered.  So  she  stayed  at  home  and  sent  for  mirac- 
ulous waters  to  drink  and  to  bathe  in.  And  she  thanked 
heaven,  whether  it  heard  her  or  not,  and  prayed  yet  once 
more  for  a  hearing. 

Her  hair  had  turned  white  some  ten  years  after  her 
marriage.  "  From  moping,"  her  husband  told  her,  with 
tender  reproof,  but  that  was  not  so,  these  white  heads  being 
peculiar  to  the  de  Heerles,  as  you  can  see  from  the  famous 
"  Jan  de  Ileerle  "  in  the  National  Museum  at  Amsterdam. 
Baron  Reinout  never  alluded  to  their  common  trial,  except 


42  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

to  rally  his  wife  on  her  grief  for  it.  Iksides  tlic  anxiety  to 
spare  her,  there  was  hope  against  hope  in  his  lieart.  A 
Ilexelaerless  world?  lie  had  faith  in  the  indispcnsableness 
of  the  Rexelaers. 

With  the  whitening  of  her  hair  the  last  bit  of  colour 
seemed  to  die  away  from  the  Baroness.  Her  beautiful  com- 
plexion had  always  had  the  pallor  of  marble  ;  her  eyes  had 
been  the  weak  point ;  they  were  faint ;  they  grew  fainter 
still.  When  the  pleasures  of  this  world  fell  away  from  her, 
she  had  taken  to  dressing  very  much  in  white.  Her  hus- 
band liked  it ;  to  her  it  was  a  compromise  between  the 
rainbow-hues  of  vanity  and  the  black  of  religious  seclusion. 
The  villagers  looked  at  each  otheii  with  something  akin  to 
awe  as  the  slender  figure  went  flitting  between  the  trees,  a 
vision  of  pureness,  with  the  basket  of  charity  on  one  arm. 
People  began  to  speak  of  "  The  White  Baroness  "  in  all  the 
country  round.  Perhaps  she  liked  it.  Perhaps  what  had 
been  at  first  a  natural  predilection  developed  into  a  parti 
pris.  For  years  she  was  "  The  White  Baroness,"  a  j^ure 
and  pallid  apparition,  very  silent,  very  kind  to  the  poor  and 
suffering,  very  strong-  and  narrow-willed.  She  surrounded 
herself  with  white  doves  and  white  chickens,  white  cats  and 
white  roses.  The  latter  hobby,  in  especial,  took  possession 
of  her ;  she  could  never  get  blossoms  enough  for  the  little 
Chapel  in  the  Park.  "  xVn  infant's  soul  as  white  as  these," 
she  murmured  in  her  prayers,  over  and  over  again,  in  the 
silence  of  the  sanctury,  and  all  the  dead  Eexelaers  lay  still 
and  listened.  "  0  spotless  Virgin,  a  little,  little  infant,  with 
a  soul  as  white  as  these  !  " 

The  head-gardener  at  Deynum — they  had  a  better  one  ■ 
in  those  days — even  succeeded  in  producing  a  new   white 
variety   which  he   named   in    her  honour.     She  was   very 
proud  of  it.     Is  it  not  written  down  in  all  the  rose-growers' 
catalogues  as  "  The  AVhite  Baroness  "  to  this  day '? 

As  her  piety  increased,  she  would  have  had  all  men 
share  it,  her  particular  form  of  piety,  of  course.     And  that 


THE    WHITE  BARONESS.  43 

is  a  difficult  matter  in  a  world  wliose  good  and  evil  are  vari- 
ously shadowed  by  each  good  man's  individual  eclectic  light. 
Besides,  Deynum  was  officially  split  up  into  two  colours, 
Roman  Catholic  and  Protestant.  "  Catholic  and  Beggar," 
the  Baroness  would  have  said.  For  the  Romanists  of  Hol- 
land still  daily  insult  their  old  antagonists  with  that  most 
honourable  by-word  of  "  Gueux." 

The  Baroness  pitied  all  beggars  and  would  have  fed 
them.  But  when  they  refused  the  communion  of  any  other 
table  than  their  own,  her  pity,  turning  under  the  thunder 
of  papal  anathemas,  soured  rapidly  to  wrath.  And  she 
made  war  upon  them  to  drive  them  forth,  as  the  Rexelaers, 
having  themselves  felt  the  weight  of  persecution,  had  never 
done  before.  She  boycotted  them,  a  very  common  thing  in 
Holland,  although  rather  an  unfair  one,  because  the  Protes- 
tants, whether  more  tolerant  or  more  indifferent,  do  not  re- 
taliate in  this  manner.  And  as  the  years  went  on  she 
perfected  her  system  of  repression,  cruel  only  to  be  kind. 
"  In  the  choice  between  a  son  of  the  church  and  an  infidel, 
why  choose  an  infidel  ?  "  she  asked.  The  Baron  could  not 
deny  that  she  was  theoretically  right.  But  he  strove  prac- 
tically to  minimise  results.  "  Let  us  be  faithful  in  little 
things,  dearest,"  said  the  Baroness,  "  we  who  ask  so  great  a 
thing  of  God." 

And  the  hot  breath  of  persecution  opened  ujo  the  blos- 
soms in  cold  Calvinistic  hearts,  as  is  its  mission,  and  there 
was  a  revival.  There  had  never  been  a  Protestant  church 
at  Deynum,  the  worshippers  going  to  the  neighboring  par- 
ish of  Rollingen,  but  now  it  became  suddenly  manifest  that 
this  state  of  affairs  could  not  be  allowed  to  continue.  The 
difficulty  was  how  to  get  it  altered,  for  all  the  available 
land  in  the  village  belonged  to  the  Baron.  A  movement 
was  set  on  foot,  but  it  proved  unavailing,  for,  even  liad  his 
wife  not  been  there  to  instruct  him,  Reinout  Rexelaer  would 
hardly  have  consented  to  so  startling  an  intrusion.  "  Let 
them  worship  as  they  have  worshipped  for  ages,"  he  de- 


44  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

clared.  "  If  worship  it  be,"  added  Gertrude.  The  dispute 
spread  into  the  newspapers.  And  the  powerful  lord  of  the 
adjoining  parish,  Earou  Borck,  took  it  up.  He  was  a  man 
of  easy  indifference  in  matters  of  religion — the  more  mod- 
ern name  is  "tolerance" — but  some  stories  of  Mevrouw 
Eexelaer's  rigour  had  reached  him,  and  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ters had  petty  grievances  against  their  neighbours,  and 
there  had  been  a  dispute  about  a  ditch.  Baron  Borck  was 
a  Member  of  the  States  Deputed,  which  are  a  small  govern- 
ing-body elected  out  of  the  States  Provincial.  He  was  a 
man  of  authority  and  he  used  it  in  endeavour  to  get  a  De- 
cree of  Expropriation  on  the  ground  of  general  utility.  But 
the  Baroness  fought  him  with  dogged  pertinacity.  "  Shall 
we  bring  down  a  curse  upon  us  ?  "  she  repeated  incessantly. 
"We  who  have  such  especial  need  of  a  blessing?"  She 
dragged  up  the  chancel-steps  on  her  naked  knees.  She  sent 
forth  angry  glances  from  her  castle  turret  towards  the  im- 
pudent Protestant  steeple  of  Eollingen.  And  she  sent 
forth  also  from  that  same  elevation,  into  the  stormy  night, 
her  favourite  snow-white  carrier-pigeon,  that  he  might  lift 
up  the  story  of  her  sufferings  for  the  faith  to  the  very 
bosom  of  the  Queen  of  Heaven.  But  the  pigeon  was  a 
nineteenth-century  bird,  and  went  back  to  his  dovecot. 

She  conquered,  whether  by  these  means  or  others.  She 
carried  her  cause  up  to  the  Privy  Council,  and  there  she 
conquered.  Not  a  single  member  of  that  august  assembly 
could  see  any  connection  between  a  Church  and  a  matter  of 
general  utility. 

And  then  the  gift,  so  strangely,  so  fearfully  sweet  to  a 
hope  deferred,  came  upon  her  as  a  reward.  She  accepted 
it,  humbly  before  God,  triumphantly  before  men.  In  those 
days  of  calm  expectancy,  with  the  smile  of  Heaven  upon 
her,  she  felt  as  Hebrew  Hannah  must  have  felt  when  the 
Lord  took  away  his  handmaid's  reproach.  She  was  more 
than  forty  years  old.  She  had  been  married  more  than 
twenty.     The  child  was  born ;  and  it  was  a  girl. 


THE  WHITE  BARONESS.  45 

When  they  told  her,  she  said :  "  God's  will  be  done." 
She  said  it  aloud.  And  when  they  offered  to  bring  her  the 
babe,  she  answered  :  "  Presently."  Which  shows  what  her 
heart  said. 

A  little  later  its  wailing  cry  broke  in  upon  her  faintness. 
She  turned  her  head  from  the  wall.  "  Is  that  the  little 
one  ?  "  she  asked.     And  they  laid  it  upon  her  breast. 

She  went  through  the  ceremony  of  her  chnrching,  and 
she  regularly  attended  mass.  But  during  six  months  she 
did  not  go  to  pray  in  the  loneliness  of  the  chapel,  and, 
throughout  all  that  period,  its  altar  remained  destitute  of 
flowers.  One  morning  she  walked  into  the  library  and  went 
straight  up  to  the  curtain  which  usually  hung  down  over 
the  book-shelves  of  the  eighteenth-century  Rexelaer  who 
had  explained  away  the  lion-myth.  She  pushed  it  aside 
with  resolute  hand,  and  took  down  a  volume — of  Voltaire  ! 
She  stood  turning  over  the  pages  undecidedly  for  a  few 
moments,  then  she  shut  it  up  with  a  shudder,  and  went 
away  again.     Her  eyes  were  dry  and  hard. 

She  loved  her  baby  girl ;  it  was  not  against  the  child 
that  her  anger  was  kindled.  The  miraculous  answer  which 
need  not  have  been,  yet  now  was,  and  was  not  an  answer, 
struck  her  in  the  face  like  a  personal  taunt.  And  she  was 
as  one  in  an  open  boat  that  drifts  away  from  the  friend  he 
loves,  beyond  all  loving,  because  that  friend  has  cut  the  rope 
which  held  him  moored. 

"  Eeinout,"  she  said  one  day,  before  her  convalescence, 
while  her  life  yet  hung  in  danger, — "  Give  Baron  Borck 
the  bit  of  land  he  wants,  near  the  mill." 

"  Hush,"  said  her  husband.  "  You  mustn't  talk."  He 
thought  her  mind  was  wandering. 

"  Somehow,  I  don't  want  you  to  sell  it.  Simply  give  it. 
Throw  it  in  his  face." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him.  "  You  think  I'm 
not,  not  conscious,"  she  murmured  in  surprise.  "  Reinout, 
I  know  I'm  in  danger.     I  may  be  dead  to-morrow.     Write 


4(i  TllH  GREATER  GLORY. 

to-iiiglit.  A  scornful  letter.  Tell  him  it  doesn't — matter — 
1 1 0  \v — th  e  y — pra}'. ' ' 

And  he  wrote,  after  some  hesitation.  It  was  her  an- 
swer. A  defiance  to  High  Heaven,  with  Death  at  her 
chamber-door. 

Father  Bulbius,  who  had  bravely  seconded  her  during 
the  battle,  opened  his  eyes  wide  with  disappointment.  And 
tlien  he  half  closed  them,  as  was  his  habit,  and  watched. 

"  ]\Iy  daughter,"  he  said  one  day,  after  he  had  listened — 
in  the  confessional — to  her  recital  of  various  peccadilloes, 
"  you  have  difficulties  of  which  you  do  not  speak.  The  sun 
of  your  contentment  does  not  shine  as  it  did  before." 

"  I  am  as  you  have  always  known  me.  Father,"  she  an- 
swered.    And  he  saw  that  that  door  was  closed. 

He  waited  another  couidIc  of  months,  and  slept  nine 
hours  at  night,  and  an  hour  after  his  noonday  dinner.  And 
of  evenings,  when  not  engaged  with  the  Baron,  he  watched 
the  Baroness's  game  of  Patience,  and  he  j^layed  his  own 
little  game  of  Patience  too. 

He  won  it  on  the  day  when  the  distressed  Baron  con- 
fided to  him,  as  the  greatest  of  secrets,  that  the  Baroness 
had  tried  to  read  Voltaire.  That  evening  the  Father  dis- 
coursed eloquently  on  the  infidel  writer,  of  whom  he  had 
never  read  a  word,  repeatedly  regretting  the  speciousness  of 
his  arguments,  which  only  your  cleej)  thinker,  he  said,  could 
resist.  In  the  lady's  ignorance  the  name  only  stood  out,  a 
recollection  of  earliest  eschewment,  synonymous  with  Luther 
or  the  Devil.  But  her  curiosity  was  aroused,  and  when  she 
slipped  into  the  library  next  morning,  the  volume  contain- 
ing "  La  Pucelle "  came  most  easily  to  her  hand.  She 
turned  from  that  in  horror,  successfully  biassed  by  a  very 
few  pages,  and  took  down  a  controversial  work.  These, 
then,  were  the  thoughts  of  an  infidel.  And  as  she  read, 
carelessly  at  first,  his  attacks  upon  a  faith  which  lay  dead 
within  her,  that  faith  awoke  in  its  grave  and  cried  out. 
These  things  were  false.     Yonder  accusation  was  absurd. 


THE   WHITE   BARONESS.  47 

Against  this  statement  it  could  be  argued —  She  rose  from 
her  reading  with  a  flame  in  her  pale  eyes.  She  must  reason 
about  these  matters  with  someone.  Why,  even  a  woman 
like  herself  could  see  the  sophistry  of  the  argument  on  page 
105.  She  was  rather  proud  of  seeing  it  so  clearly.  She 
must  tell  Father  Bulbius  about  it. 

And  she  did.  He  showed  her,  intellectually,  the  evil 
ways  of  infidelity.  Her  woman's  heart  rose  up  against  the 
foolish  pride  of  feeble  sense.  And  under  ideal  persecution 
she  revived,  as  surely  as  the  materially  ojipressed  Protestants 
of  Deynum. 

"  For  My  thoughts  are  not  your  thoughts,"  said  the  poor 
lady.  "  When  one  learns  to  iinderstand  what  a  godless 
man's  thoughts  are  like,  it  is  not  difficult  to  admit  that 
God's  thoughts  must  be  better,  even  when  not,  or  when  mis-, 
understood."  The  old  fervour  did  not  return  to  her,  but 
there  were  once  more  "  White  Baroness "  roses  on  the 
chapel-altar.     Her  almsgiving  had  never  changed. 

"  Who  knows  what  may  still  happen  ?  "  said  the  Baron, 
sturdily.  "  All  things  are  possible  with  the  Almighty,"  he 
said.  And  once  when  she  had  turned  upon  him,  in  one  of 
their  most  rare  dissensions  and  had  burst  out  with  "Not 
the  ridiculous  !  "  he  waited  until  one  evening  in  the  chapel 
they  paused,  before  a  window  gorgeous  with  a  crimson 
sacrifice  of  Isaac.  "  That  also  Avas  a  race,"  he  said  softly, 
"  which  Heaven,  in  its  Providence,  could  not  allow  to  die 
out." 

But  the  Baroness  van  Rexelaer  had  nothing  in  commoii 
with  Sarah.    Not  even  a  likino^  for  the  children  of  Abraham. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

HEUREUX    EX    MARIAOE, 

"  Should  you  not  have  moved  your  ten  on  to  the 
knave  '? "  inquired  the  Father  mildly.  "  That  would  have 
enabled  you  to  get  at  your  ace." 

"Yes,  but  I  wanted  to  free  my  seventh  line,"  said  the 
Baroness. 

The  Baroness's  game  is  a  very  complicated  one.  It  has 
the  true  merit  of  a  game  of  Patience  :  like  its  homonym,  it 
hardly  ever  succeeds. 

"  How  well  your  little  Carlsbad  cards  wear,  Mevrouw," 
said  the  Father,  searching,  in  his  restless  loquacity,  for  a 
subject  of  conversation.  "  You  have  never,  I  believe,  been 
to  Carlsbad  ?  " 

"Xo,  I  have  never  been  anywhere."  replied  the  Bar- 
oness. 

"  Xor  have  I.  But  I  knew  a  young  clerical  colleague, 
who  went  there  two  years  ago,  for  a  melancholy  he  could 
far  better  have  cured  by  a  religious  retreat  at  the  College.'' 

"  Perhaps  it  was  dyspepsia,"  suggested  the  Baroness. 
You  see,  she  had  read  Voltaire. 

"  If  so,  he  could  have  cured  it  by  fasting.  Besides,  it 
was  not  the  slightest  use  his  going  to  Carlsbad,  for  he  died 
before  he  got  there." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  the  Baroness,  with  that  sudden  interest 
which  the  final  catastrophe  always  awakens.  Then  she 
added  mechanically  :  "  How  sad  !  " 

"  He  died  in  a  railway  accident,"  continued  the  Father. 
"  And  the  most  provoking  thing  of  all  was  that,  when  the 


HEUREUX   EN   MARIAGE.  4<J 

doctors  opened  the  body,  they,  were  unanimous  in  declaring 
that  Carlsbad  could  never  have  cured  him,  after  all." 

"  But  that  did  not  matter  to  him  then,"  objected  the 
Baroness. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  replied  Father  Bulbius,  doubtfulh^ 
"  But  somehow,  it  has  always  seemed  to  me  so  like  a  case  of 
suicide,  without  the  ghost  of  a  reason." 

The  Baroness  looked  at  the  clock.  A  couple  of  logs  of 
wood  lay  smouldering  and  flickering  on  the  oj)en  hearth. 
The  soft  glow  of  the  fire  and  the  softer  lamplight  played 
over  the  delicate  lines  of  the  lady's  face  and  over  her  slen- 
der, blue-veined  hands,  as  she  sorted  her  game.  There  was 
a  gentleness  about  the  warm  quiet  little  drawing-room  with 
its  subdued,  old-fashioned  colours  and  a  glamour  of  some- 
thing almost  like  romance  over  the  stately  figure  in  grey 
satin  with  white  lace  collar  and  wrist-bands,  white  hair  and 
white  cap.  In  spite  of  the  grey  apparel  wdiich  time  had 
led  her  to  adopt,  the  Baroness  was  the  white  Baroness 
still. 

There  was  nothing  romantic,  however,  about  Father 
Bulbius,  who  sat  doubled  up  by  the  little  green  card-table, 
his  broad  forehead  closely  knotted  over  the  puzzle  of  his  col- 
league's/e/o  de  se. 

"  He  will  be  coming  back  again  soon,"  remarked  the 
Baroness,  thinking  of  her  departed  lord. 

"  Hardly  that,"  replied  the  Father.  "  He  was  definitely 
dead." 

"  Not  definitely,  I  fancy.  I  merely  understood  that  the 
station-master  expected  him  to  die." 

"  Oh,  but  excuse  me,  my  dear  lady,  I  remember  nothing 
of  the  station-master's  opinion.  Though  there  certainly 
was  a  station-master  concerned,  whom  everybody  considered 
to  blame.  As  for  me,  I  should  prefer  to  censure  the  foolish 
ones  who  go  hurrying  through  Europe  to  escape  from  them- 
selves. I  have  one  insuperable  objection  to  medicines ;  they 
all  make  me  unwell.     Trust  in  God  and  put  a  cold  water 


50  THE  GREATER   GLORY. 

compress  where  the  pain  is.  That's  my  cure."  The  good 
priest  liked  the  Baroness  to  k'ave  him  master  of  the  fiehl ; 
the  Baroness  did  not  listen. 

The  Baron  found  them  thus  amiably  consorted  when  he 
returned.     His  face  was  very  grave, 

"  Dear  me,  if  the  man  was  dying,  perhaps  I  ought  to 
have  gone  to  him  !  "  cried  the  priest  with  tardy  compunc- 
tion. 

"  lie  is  dying,"  replied  the  Baron ;  "  but  he  need  not  do 
so  without  your  aid.  It  is  a  foreigner,  taken  with  acute 
spasms  in  the  train,  who  finds  himself  stranded  here.  Un- 
doubtedly he  is  very  ill." 

"  Where  is  he  now  ? "  queried  the  Baroness.  "  Is  he 
better?  Is  he  a  gentleman?  Or  shall  I  send  him  some 
soup?" 

"  He  is  a  gentleman.  He  is  very  old.  The  servant  told 
me  his  name  was  M.  Farjolle ;  he  says  he  is  a  Frenchman. 
They  are  at  the  inn." 

"At  that  place?"  cried  Mevrouw.  "  Mon  cher,  you 
should  have  asked  him  here." 

"  Mon  amie,  he  steadfastly  refused  to  come." 

"  Ah,  j^ardon.    Of  course  you  would  do  what  was  right." 

"  I  do  not  think  he  understood,"  said  the  Baron.  "  He 
offered  a  napoleon  for  the  use  of  the  carriage." 

"  For  shame,"  exclaimed  the  Baroness,  who  considered 
that  no  suffering  could  excuse  such  an  error. 

"  I  told  him  that  he  was  mistaken,  but  that  I  should  be 
glad  to  accept  a  florin  for  the  coachman,"  said  the  Baron 
coolly.     "  And  then  I  left  him  in  j^eace." 

"•  "Which  means,"  cried  his  wife  quickly,  "  that  you  came 
back  on  the  box.  Oh,  Reinout,  how  could  you  ?  At  least 
say  that  the  weather  was  fine." 

"  It  might  be  worse,"  replied  the  Baron,  and  he  walked 
away  to  fetch  the  newspaper,  sitting  down  quietly,  now,  to 
its  Home  and  Foreign  Xews. 

"  Aha,"  he  said  suddenly,  in  the  tone  of  a  man  who 


HEUREUX  EX   MARIAGE.  51 

makes  a  discovery.  "  This  explains  Monsieur  Rexelaer's 
move.  '  Appointed  to  tlie  jjost  of  Sub-Comptroller  of  the 
lioyal  HoiTsehold,  Count  Ililarius  Jan  Eeinout  van  Rexc- 
laer.'     At  last." 

"  And  what  is  that,  Mynheer  the  Baron  ?  "  asked  Bulbi- 
us,  slowly  hoisting  himself  off  his  chair. 

"  Oh,  it's  the  man  that  looks  after  the  larder  and  but- 
tery," interposed  the  Baroness  sharply. 

"  Well,  he  has  edged  himself  into  the  enchanted  circle," 
said  the  Baron,  "  and  now  he  wants  to  cut  a  figure  as  a 
noble  and  a  great  landed  proprietor." 

"  And  a  Eexelaer,"  added  the  Baroness. 

In  the  thoughtful  silence  that  followed,  the  Priest  took 
his  leave.  "  Have  you  got  an  umbrella  ?  "  asked  the  Baron, 
following  him  out  of  the  room. 

"No.     Why  so?     It  isn't  raining." 

"  Hush.  Yes,  it  is.  But  it  might  be  raining  a  good  deal 
harder  at  this  time  of  year  ;  might  it  not?" 

Mynheer  van  Eexelaer  went  back  to  his  wife.  She  had 
risen  and  was  standing  by  the  mantelpiece. 

"  Sub-Comptroller  of  the  Eoyal  Household,"  she  said 
slowly,  and  with  increasing  bitterness — too  scornful  not  to 
reveal  a  little  touch  of  envy. — "  In  all  things  for  the  last 
twenty  years  has  Fortune  favoured  this  adventurer,  baulk- 
ing, according  to  her  custom,  the  better  man." 

He  took  one  of  her  hands  in  his.  "  Not  in  all  things," 
he  said. 

"  How  so  ?  " 

He  pointed  to  the  cards  now  lying  in  a  little  stream 
across  the  table.  "  Heureux  en  mariage,"  he  said,  "  nial- 
heureux  au  jeu.  Let  the  Count  take  his  share.  I  have 
mine.     No  man,  it  appears,  may  claim  botb." 

As  he  spoke,  his  look  fell  on  the  crumpled  newspaper 
lying  against  his  deserted  chair.  And  his  own  words  struck 
home  to  him.     "  Malheureux  au  jen." 

She  pressed  his  hand,  and  they  stood  silent,  side  by  side 


52  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

Then  he  broke  away,  with  an  exclamation  of  impatience,  to 
wind  up  the  oil-himp. 

She  came  after  him.  "  But  lie  has  not  got  Deynum 
yet,"  she  said,  "  this  Count."  Oh  the  contempt  of  the  last 
word  from  her  lips  ! 

"  Xo,  he  has  not  got  Deynum  3'et." 

"  But,  Reinout." 

"\Yhatisit,  Gertrude?" 

"  lie  has  a  son." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  PRINCE  OF  THE  BLOOD  ROYAL. 

"  She  has  looked  them  out  in  the  '  Annuaire  de  la  No- 
blesse,'" thought  the  Baron.  "Yet  what  could  she  care 
about  these  peojole?  How  inquisitive  the  best  of  women 
are." 

The  Baroness  had  done  more,  while  angry  with  herself 
for  doing  it.  Writing  to  an  acquaintance  at  the  Hague,  she 
had  casually  inquired  after  those  other  Rexelaers :  "  Do  you 
know  anything  of  our  namesakes,  the  Count's  family,  I 
mean?  There  is  a  boy — is  there  not? — called  Reinout." 
The  unknown  Reinout  Rexelaer  incessantly  tormented  her 
unwilling  thoughts.  Yet  she  turned  to  the  answer  with  a 
sort  of  irritable  pleasure. 

"  You  ask  after  the  Rexelaers,"  wrote  the  Hague  lady. 
"  Him  one  meets  everywhere.  Her  I  have  never  seen.  I 
know  his  brother's  family  better;  the  wife  there,  you  know, 
is  one  of  our  own  set,  a  Borck,  and  I  like  her  very  much. 
Since  the  Count  brought  back  his  nigger  spouse  and  her 
millions  from  Brazil,  where  he  was  secretary  or  something, 
he  has  worked  day  and  night  to  recover  the  position  they 
had  lost  through  their  impecuniosity,  but  the  black  woman 
is  an  obstacle.  She  locks  herself  up  in  a  hot-house,  people 
say,  and  cries  for  the  sun.  It  is  a  great  pity  they  should  be 
Protestants — How  was  that,  by-the-bye? — still,  now  that 
you,  my  dear  Gertrude,  have  only  a  daughter,  it  must  be  a 
source  of  real  satisfaction  to  you  to  remember  that  this 
other  branch  is  blessed  with  sons.  The  Rexelaer- Borcks 
have  two,  and  there  is  one  boy,  one  child,  at  the  Count's. 


54  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

Yes,  his  name  is  Keinout,  like  your  husband's.  I  suppose  it 
is  a  family  name  ? 

"  The  little  that  I  know  of  the  lad  is  rather  interesting, 
I  think.  For  some  foolish  reason  they  keep  him  altogether 
apart ;  perhaps  that  is  a  Brazilian  idea.  He  is  educated,  it 
appears,  into  a  premature  little  man  of  the  world,  and  put 
to  bed  in  a  court  wig  and  ruffles.  I  don't  know  particulars. 
But  he  comes  to  a  gymnastic  class  Avith  my  children,  at- 
tended by  the  queerest,  courtliest  little  Louis  Quiuze  cheva- 
lier that  you  ever  saw  off  a  snuff-box  lid.  I  met  him  there 
once,  and  he  stood  aside  to  let  me  pass,  lifting  his  cap  with 
the  air  of  a  young  prince,  enough  to  break  the  heart  of  a 
mother  of  hobbledehoys.  He  is  a  very  handsome  youth, 
dark  complexioned,  with  big,  expressive  eyes.  Of  course  the 
other  boys  do  not  care  for  him.  He  had  a  violent  quarrel 
with  my  own  Louis,  in  which  I  cannot  help  thinking  Louis 
was  wrong.  I  have  run  on,  but  I  fancy  that  is  about  all. 
How  is  Vendela  ?  " 

The  Baroness  slowdy  slowly  tore  the  letter  uj)  and  placed 
the  fragments  on  the  blazing  fire. 

It  was  unavoidable  that  the  bovs  with  whom  he  was 
brought  into  such  unsatisfactory  contact  should  look  askance 
at  voung  Eeinout.  "L'nbeknown  is  unbeloved,"  says  a 
Dutch  pioverb.  Schoolboyhood  whispered  derision  of  the 
little  gentleman  wnth  kid  gloves. 

And  when  schoolboyhood  whispers  derision,  its  next  step 
is  to  shout  it.  His  companions,  as  his  father  fondly  called 
them,  began  to  tease  him  at  the  various  classes  where  they 
met.  They  would  bow  before  him  and  address  him  as 
"  Your  Majesty,"  in  never  tiring  allusion  to  the  ancestral 
King  Hilarius,  with  whom  Eeinout  himself  had  unwarily 
made  them  acquainted.  All  of  them  had  plenty  of  ancestors 
of  their  own,  but  the  King  was  a  delightfully  fresh  source 
of  amusement.  And  thence  sprang  the  quarrel  with  the 
Louis  mentioned  above. 


A  PRINCE  OF  THE  BLOOD  ROYAL.  55 

This  Louis,  one  afternoon,  had  made  a  highly  successful 
joke  about  Eeinout  and  his  dog,  whom  he  nicknamed  "  the 
two  Princes."  Carried  away  by  his  own  wit,  he  aimed,  just 
as  the  class  was  dispersing,  a  couple  of  blows  with  a  fencing 
foil  at  the  lad  and  the  brute,  missing  the  former,  but  draw- 
ing a  yelp  of  protest  from  the  veritable  "  Prince."  Quick 
as  thought  Eeinout  turned,  and,  first  checking  himself  with 
a  chivalrous  "  On  your  guard  ! "  flashed  a  retort  full  into  his 
aggressor's  left  eye.  He  was  carried  off  in  a  fume  of  indig- 
nation, by  his  faithful  Mentor,  who  knew  not  whether  to 
scold  or  approve,  and,  on  reaching  home,  he  ran  straight  to 
his  fatherls  study. 

"  Papa !  "  he  began  impetuously. 

"  Hush ! "  said  the  Count,  who  was  looking  over  his 
cash-book.  The  Count  was  an  admirable,  and  scrupulous, 
financier. 

"Well?"  he  asked,  presently,  jotting  down  some  figures. 

"  Papa,  it  is  all  true — is  it  not  ? — about  Rex  Hilarius, 
and  the  lion  and  Wendela,  isn't  it?" 

"  Of  course  it  is  true,  Rene,"  replied  the  Count  with  a 
smile. 

The  boy  gave  a  great  gasp  of  relief.  "  I  am  so  glad  to 
hear  you  say  that,"  he  almost  sobbed.  "  Then  I  may  hill 
whoever  says  it  is  not  ?  " 

His  father  burst  out  laughing.  "  Certainly  not,"  cried 
the  Count.  "  You  may  kill  nobody.  On  the  contrary,  you 
must  be  on  very  good  terms  with  all  your  companions. 
There's  not  one  of  them  but  you  may  want  him  some 
day." 

Reinout  stood  lost  in  reflection.  "  Life  is  very  difficult," 
he  said  at  last.  "  Do  you  know.  Papa,  I  think  it  is  almost 
impossible  fo'r  a  man  always  to  know  how  to  act  as  a  gentle- 
man," 

"  Certainly  not,"  cried  the  Count  again.^  "  Nothing  is 
easier.  It  becomes  a  habit,  like  all  others.  Like  speaking 
French  without  mistakes." 


56  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

"  But  I  don't  mean  politeness,"  said  Rcinout  vaguely. 
"  I  mean  about  doing  right." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  the  Count,  turning  to  his  books 
again.  "  So  do  I,  Reinout.  Ask  Monsieur  de  Souza.  He 
knows." 

But  Reinout  did  not  immediately  return  to  liis  tutor. 
He  went  to  look  for  his  mother  in  the  conservatory,  where 
she  lay,  on  her  lounge,  enveloped  in  heat,  a  novel  of  Catulle 
Mendes  in  her  hand. 

"  Shut  the  door,  Rene,"  she  said  without  lifting  her  eyes. 
Her  attitude  was  nltra-languid,  but  her  soul  was  palpitating 
with  the  heroine's  infidelities.  The  Countess  had  literary 
tastes  and  aspirations,  as  will  be  amply  proved  in  the  future. 
She  even  composed  poetry.  Private  poetry,  of  course,  as 
befitted  her  rank. 

Reinout  stood  gazing  at  his  mother  in  silence,  for  one 
whole  minute.  He  was  searching,  confusedly,  for  explana- 
tion and  expression.  But  his  heart  seemed  too  full  for 
speech. 

With  her  eyes  unalterably  intent  on  her  book,  the 
beautiful  Creole — she  was  still  beautiful — slowdy  drew  to 
light  from  the  folds  of  her  dressing-gown  a  pink-ribboned 
confectioner's  bag,  which  she  held  out  in  the  direction  of 
her  son.     "  Take  some  sweets,"  she  said. 

The  boy  required  no  second  bidding,  but  plunged  his 
fingers  eagerly  down.  "  Are  there  any  of  those  chocolats 
with  the  green  stuff  inside  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  nodded,  a  little  impatiently,  and  he  went  away,  with 
his  hands  full,  to  demonstrate  to  Monsieur  de  Souza's  not 
unconvincible  ears  that  he  must  fight  Louis  to-morrow,  and 
lick  him. 

Never,  surely,  had  child  a  stranger  tutor.  Monsieur  de 
Souza-Calhao  was  an  old  Portuguese  gentleman  of  shattered 
health  and  fortunes,  but  of  irreproachable  ancestry  and  ex- 


A  PRINCE  OF  THE  BLOOD   ROYAL.  57 

perience.  The  Rexelaers  had  come  across  him  just  before 
they  quitted  Rio,  and  had  brought  him  away  with  them. 
He  talked  incessantly,  pumping  up  his  words  with  an  audi- 
ble draw, — he  was  a  great  sufferer  from  asthma, — and  his 
talk,  a  life's  harvest  of  gentle  cynicism,  delighted  the 
Count.  "  Teach  my  boy,"  said  the  latter,  "  whatever  you 
remember  yourself.  All  the  rest,  I  feel  sure,  is  unnecessary. 
Contact  with  the  world  and  those  who  know  the  world  is 
the  only  education.  At  school  children  but  learn  what  life 
teaches  them  to  forget.  Make  a  man  of  him,  like  ourselves, 
that  has  seen  men  and  cities.  And  furnish  him  with 
enough  arithmetic  to  reckon  for  number  one."  The  two 
men  shook  hands.  Count  Rexelaer  so  thoroughly  believed 
in  what  he  said,  that,  from  the  child's  earliest  youth,  he 
had  taken  him  about  with  him  everywhere.  Well,  nearly 
everywhere.  When  he  left  M.  de  Souza,  he  went  in  to  his 
wife,  and  explained  his  plan.  The  Countess  demurred.  She 
had  aspirations,  poor  thing,  in  her  own  foolish  way,  and  she 
suggested  the  addition  of  "  The  poets."  Count  Hilarius 
smiled.  "  Ma  chere,"  he  said,  "  Believe  me  ;  I  know  my  own 
class.  The  Almanach  de  Gotha  and  the  Paris  Figaro  are  a 
liberal  education." 

Monsieur  de  Souza  carried  out  his  instructions  and  im- 
proved on  them.  He  was  a  shrewd  and  kindly  man,  not 
soured  by  his  misfortunes,  which  he  bore  with  easy  jihi- 
losophy.  He  liked  his  pale  little  pupil — "  the  child  is  not 
strong,  don't  let  him  learn  too  much,"  had  been  the  verdict 
of  a  great  Paris  physician.  "  Ah,  you  see,"  said  the  father. 
It  was  an  education  which  many  a  more  correctly  educated 
man  might  have  envied.  The  tutor,  for  instance,  would 
take  Bucharest  for  the  morning's  subject,  and  would  then 
talk  for  a  couple  of  hours,  first  about  the  city  as  he  remem- 
bered it — he  had  been  everywhere — and  the  places  of  inter- 
est near,  the  dress  and  habits  and  peculiarities  of  the  Rou- 
manian people.  "  All  this,"  he  would  say,  "  you  can  go  and 
see  for  yourself  some  day,"  but  then  he  would  proceed  far- 


58  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

ther  and  tt'll  about  the  great  Ivoumanian  families,  their 
members,  their  possessions,  their  relations  to  the  brand-new 
German-silver  crown.  He  would  repeat  these  stories  from 
time  to  time  and  ask  his  pupil  about  them,  and  so,  gradually 
travelling  round  the  world,  the  boy  learned  all  about  the 
net-work  of  vulgarity  and  vanity  which  keeps  it  together, 
the  little  tangle  of  kings,  ministers  and  mistresses  in  which 
it  swings.  But  he  also  learned  a  variety  of  other  things,  a 
smattering  of  conversation  about  latter-day  pictures  and 
operas,  for  instance,  nothing  beyond  the  limits  of  elegant 
ignorance.  And  he  was  early  taught  dancing,  riding,  fenc- 
ing, his  mother's  accomplishments.  The  Countess  Mar- 
gherita  came  in  to  fence  with  her  son  and  mortified  him 
into  efficiency  by  her  successes.  "  K'ever  kill  your  man,  un- 
less you  want  to,"  she  cried,  as  she  leaped  straight  at  the 
boy's  heart.  To  see  her  lithe  figure  bounding  to  and  fro  in 
a  quiver  of  excitement, — she  fenced  in  the  French  manner 
— one  would  have  imagined  it  impossible  that  this  was  the 
woman  who  for  days  could  only  loll  on  couches  in  conserva- 
tories and  munch  lollipops. 

"And  especially,  Monsieur  de  Souza,"  said  the  poor 
Countess,  "  I  beg  of  you  to  supplement  your  own  vast  ex- 
perience by  the  reading  of  books  with  my  son.  Let  him 
know  how  the  great  intellects  saw  life."  "  You  mean  nov- 
els, Madame?"  suggested  the  old  gentleman.  "Xovels, 
Poems,  Le  vrai,  Le  bon,  Le  beau.  Whatever  edifies  a  char- 
acter." So  Eeinout  read  his  tutor's  two  favourites.  La  Bru- 
yere  and  Montaigne.  The  tutor  did  not  take  kindly  to  the 
Countess's  suggestion.  As  for  works  of  the  imagination,  he 
held  them  in  abhorrence.  "  If  you  must  read,"  he  fre- 
quently said  to  Reinout,  "  although  I  see  no  reason  for  your 
doing  so,  then  memoirs  are  best."  Eeinout  waded  through 
a  certain  number  of  Court  memoirs  of  the  17th  and  18th 
centuries,  and  very  queer  information  he  got  out  of  them. 

But  M.  de  Souza  did  not  only  acquaint  him  with  the 
evil  side  of  the  old  redme.     This  cavalier  of  the  old  school 


A   PRINCE   OF  THE  BLOOD   ROYAL.  59 

•had  its  virtuea  as  well  as  its  vices.  He  had  its  code  of 
honour,  not  a  perfect  one,  perhaps,  but  far  better  than  any- 
thing the  boy  could  have  learnt  from  his  father.  "  Never 
do  anything  mean  to  a  woman  " — he  might  have  added : 
"  except  under  the  cloak  of  '  love,'  "  for  that  was  what  he 
meant.  "  Never  be  afraid  of  any  man."  "  Never  do  any- 
thing you  need  be  ashamed  of  " — that  sounds  well,  but  many 
an  unworldly  soul  might  be  surprised  to  hear  of  what  things 
the  chevalier  was  not  ashamed.  Self-stricken  of  misfortune, 
he  taught  his  generous-hearted  pupil  to  respect,  and,  if  pos- 
sible, to  relieve  it.  "  A  gentleman  should  not  save,  but 
spend,"  the  old  spendthrift  was  never  tired  of  repeating, 
"  wisely,  if  possible,  and,  if  not  possible,  ill.  Money  must 
flow,  or  it  freezes."  And  he  would  tell  again  the  story  of 
the  Due  de  Eichelieu  and  his  grandchild. 

The  result  of  this  peculiar  training  was  a  little  aristocrat, 
heart  and  soul,  face  and  bearing,  manners  and  speech,  a  boy 
of  fourteen,  Avith  much  of  the  profoundly  ignorant  "  knowl- 
edge of  the  world,"  of  a  roue,  and  no  less  of  that  unasked, 
good-natured  pity  for  the  vague  millions  outside  its  circle, 
which  is  built  up  on  unmerited  contempt.  He  was  pro- 
foundly ignorant  of  the  real  lights  of  life,  standing,  as  he 
did,  from  childhood  upwards,  under  the  glare  of  its  wax 
candles,  but  he  was  eager,  intuitively,  to  love,  to  help,  to  be 
of  use  by  word  or  deed.  And  he  remembered  the  words  of 
the  old  Belgian  gentleman  :  A  gentilhomme  devoir  fait  loi. 
And  in  the  far  distance  he  caught  the  vague  music  of  their 
meaning,  like  the  roar  of  a  slowly  approaching  tide. 


CnAPTEE   IX. 

DISEASE. 
"  AXTOIXE  !  " 

"At  your  orders,  Monsieur  le  Marquis." 
"  Hist.     You  take  a  delight  in  disobeying  me." 
"  But  I  liad  understood  that,  when  we  were  alone — " 
"  You  had  understood  nothing.    You  never  understand." 
"  If  Monsieur  wishes  to  hare  his  title  ignored,  what  of 
these  ?  "     As  he  sj)oke,  the  man  carelessly  fingered  one  of 
the  many  gold-stoppered  bottles  which  he  was  arranging  on 
the  shaky  little  side-table.     Cool  impudence  and  indiffer- 
ence were  written  in  every  line  of  his  shaven  face. 

"  True,"  said  his  master  pensively.  "  Lock  the  things 
away,  and  have  new  ones  from  Amsterdam.  How  much 
can  they  cost  ?  A  thousand  francs,  at  the  utmost.  Find 
out  an  address,  and  write  to-day." 

"  As   it  will    please    Monsieur.     But    when    Monsieur 
remembers  that  all  his  underclothing  is  dotted  over  with 
the  sign  of  his  exalted  rank,  I  would  ask  myself — " 
"  Well,  get  other  things." 

"  I  would  ask  myself  if  Monsieur  considers  it  worth 
while." 

If  the  man  had  looked  for  a  storm  of  abuse,  he  did  not 
get  it.  "  Push  forward  that  table,"  said  the  Marquis ; 
"Place  the  morphia-injector  where  I  can  reach  it.  And 
give  me  '  Les  Memoires  de  Cocodette.'  So.  Xow  go  down 
into  the  village  and  find  out  all  about  it." 

"But  it  is  pouring  with  rtiin,  Monsieur  le  Marquis." 


DISEASE.  61 

"  Can  I  not  see  ?  Go  down  into  the  village  and  find  out 
all  about  it." 

The  valet  slunk  towards  the  door.  His  master  called 
after  him.  "  I  desire  to  know,  especially,  the  name  of  the 
seigneur  of  the  village.  In  whose  carriage  was  I  brought 
here  last  night  ?  " 

"  That  I  can  tell  already  to — to  Monsieur.  The  name  is 
Eexelaer." 

"  Ah  !  Well,  find  out  the  rest."  The  Marquis  remained 
alone. 

It  was  a  poor  apartment  enough,  even  for  a  village  inn. 
Strangers  did  not  stop  at  Deynum.  The  place  was  one  to 
feed  your  horses  at  before  you  hurried  on.  And  the  chubby- 
faced  peasant  hostess  had  been  far  more  put  out  than 
pleased  by  the  arrival,  in  her  Lord's  own  carriage,  of  the 
distinguished  invalid  and  his  still  more  terrible  serving- 
man.  She  had  hurriedly  prepared  her  own  sitting-room — 
a  secret  never  to  be  divulged — while  the  Marquis  lay  gasp- 
ing, amid  fumes  of  cheap  gin  and  cheaper  tobacco — in  the 
hurriedly  deserted  parlour  below. 

The  whole  bedroom  was  full  of  indefinable  odours,  not 
especially  evil,  but  suggestive,  generally,  of  old  clothes,  and 
hard  labour,  and  mustiness.  There  were  little  windows 
everywhere,  unfit  for  airing,  that  yet  let  in  marvels  of 
draught  The  bright  red  beams  of  the  ceiling  lay  heavy  on 
your  head.  A  great  bedstead  with  faded  green  curtains  (of 
quite  a  different  shade  from  the  green  strip  of  carpet)  stood 
against  one  side  of  the  wall,  opposite  two  bad  prints  from 
fine  pictures  of  the  Holy  Family.  So  far  there  was  nothing 
at  which  you  could  take  offence.  But  in  the  middle  of  it 
all  was  suspended  a  truly  painful  object,  the  joy  of  its  pos- 
sessor's heart,  a  brand-new  paraffin  lamp  of  tlie  commonest 
make  of  cuivre  poli,  highly  wrought  in  flowers  and  faces, 
and  surmounted  by  a  pale-green  globe  with  a  pink  paper 
border.  It  hung  there  crooked  and  greasy,  odorous  and 
two-and-sixpenny,  unusable  though  filled  to  overflowing,  an 


«;2  THE   CRKATEK   GLOIIY. 

insult  to  tlie  lioucst  deal  tables  and  rush-bottomed  chairs 
upon  Avhieh  it  looked  down. 

But  the  Marquis  noticed  none  of  these  specifically ;  he 
only  realized  an  unendurable  discomfort.  He  lay  back  in  a 
common  but  comfortable  wicker  chair,  his  tall  and  elegant 
figure  wrapped  in  a  white  plush  dressing-gown  faced  with 
silk.     And  he  w-as  as  carefully  oiled  and  brushed  as  ever. 

He  was  thinking  of  himself.  He  had  rarely  thought  of 
anything  else  for  more  than  seventy  years.  But  never  had 
he  had  sadder  subject  for  his  cogitations  than  now.  During 
a  few  moments,  certainly,  his  mind  lingered  over  the  name 
which  Antoine  had  flung  to  him  in  departing.  There  rose 
up  before  him  a  memory  of  a  dusty  road  in  the  glare  of  a 
July  sun,  and  a  little  fellow  seated  in  the  middle  of  it, 
across  his  hoop,  white  and  hot,  shame-faced  but  trium- 
phant. Of  course  it  must  be  so.  He  had  understood  the 
connection  at  once.  That  he  should  come  to  this  place,  of 
all  others,  to  die  ! 

"  That  dog,  Antoine,  smelt  death,"  he  said  aloud,  "  or 
perhaps  I  should  not  have  told  him.  Yet,  I  don't  know. 
Great  God,  I  am  all  alone  in  the  world." 

His  life  had  been  a  long  one,  crowded  with  incidents 
which  had  interested  him  absorbingly  at  the  time  of  their 
occurrence.  In  the  seventy-three  years  of  its  duration  not 
so  much  had  happened  as  in  the  last  twenty-four  hours. 
And  this  much  he  now  understood  of  time  and  eternity, 
that  the  longest  2:)eriod  of  the  longest  life  is  the  moment  in 
which  it  ends. 

He  was  a  great  noble.  He  had  lived  the  little  round  of 
his  class :  horses,  women,  shooting,  cards,  women,  horses, 
shooting,  women,  cards.  He  had  been  in  the  diplomatic 
service  for  a  certain  period :  that  only  meant  larger  experi- 
ence in  the  women  of  various  nationalities ;  and  he  had 
graced  during  many  years  the  presidential  chair  of  the  So- 
ciety for  the  Improvement  of  the  Breed  of  Horses;  that 
meant  a  certain  amount  of  betting,  but  he  was  rich  and 


DISEASE.  63 

could  afford  it.  In  fact,  he  had  done  Iiis  duty  to  his  King, 
his  Country  and  himself.  He  had  done  more  than  his  duty? 
for  he  need  not  have  patiently  suffered  banishment  to 
Madrid,  where  the  cuisine  did  not  agree  with  him,  nor  need 
he  have  kept  so  many  race-horses  in  the  interests  of  agri- 
culture. Even  had  he  confined  himself  to  the  round  above- 
mentioned,  he  could  still  have  proved  himself — what  he  was 
— a  great  noble. 

There  was  the  incident  of  the  Marquise.  How  small  it 
looked  now !  For  there  had  been  a  Marquise  who  had 
spread  her  existence  through  no  less  than  twenty-seven 
years  of  his  life.  He  had  hated  her,  because  she  had  borne 
him  no  children,  to  be  great  nobles  like  himself.  He  had 
never  paused  to  question  his  hatred,  he,  the  roue,  who  had 
married  a  young  girl.  He  did  not  think  she  had  much  to 
complain  of :  he  seldom  objected  to  her  doing  what  she 
chose.     She  had  only  been  an  incident.     He  forgot  her. 

And  his  life,  as  has  been  said,  had  been  very  full, 
crowded  with  the  labour  of  each  day's  many  pleasures.  He 
looked  down  it  now,  and  he  could  distinguish  nothing.  He 
could  not  even  remember  any  point  of  especial  interest. 
Ah,  yes,  there  was  that — when  he  was  quite  a  young  lad — 
that  innocent  little  girl  who — whom — .  He  took  up  the 
book  of  dirty  stories  from  his  lap  and  began  to  read. 

And  this  is  what  he  read.  A  dull  weight  always  there. 
At  first  the  thought  that  it  must  be  fancy.  The  question  : 
Do  I  really  feel  it  ?  Then,  with  increasing  iteration  :  Do  I 
not  feel  it?  There  it  is  again.  I  never  felt  anything  like 
it  before.  I  wonder  what  causes  it.  Something  indigesti- 
ble I  must  have  eaten.  But  I  never  knew  tilings  to  be 
indigestible  before.  I  never  was  ill  before.  I  am  not  ill 
now. 

Of  course  not.  But  why  this  deadly  feeling  of  sickness 
which  keeps  creeping  up  without  any  ajiparent  reason  ? 
AVhy  that  sudden  fainting  at  the  club,  which  proves  my 
fancy  not  fancy  but  fact? 


64  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

lie  laid  down  the  book  at  the  unturned  page,  and  sat 
staring  through  the  narrow,  muslin-curtained  window  at 
the  steady  rain  outside.  The  elms  on  the  village-green 
swayed  cheerlessly  under  the  lowering  sky. 

When  was  it  that  the  stern  reality  had  first  seized  him 
by  the  throat  ?  Ages  ago.  Life  is  long,  after  all,  when  we 
look  back  upon  it.  Immensely  long  The  summer  before 
last?     Last  summer. 

How  annoying  it  had  all  seemed  at  the  time.  But  his 
doctor  had  promised  to  cure  him  in  a  month  or  two.  He 
had  always  kept  a  doctor,  like  a  chaplain,  without  requiring 
either. 

Then  had  come  that  first  attack  of  pain.  How  that  had 
suddenly  altered  the  whole  face  of  the  matter !  How 
furious  he  had  been  with  the  numskull  who  had  allowed  his 
indisposition  to  spread  so  far.  He  had  hurried  to  Brussels 
to  consult  a  great  authority, — a  great  name,  at  least !  He 
had  learnt  that  he  was  suffering  from  inflammation,  pos- 
sibly a  tumour — a  loliat,  great  God? — yes,  probably  a 
tumour.  Oh,  nothing  to  be  alarmed  at.  Monsieur  le 
Marquis. 

"  But  my  habits,  my  daily — ahem  ! — duties.  How,  with 
your  ridiculous  diet  of  slops,  can  I  go  out  to  dinner,  as  I  am 
accustomed  to  do  five  days  of  the  seven  ?  And  the  little 
suppers  which — enfin ! — which  occur  in  the  existence  of  a 
man  of  the  world  ?  I  should  have  to  be  very  ill,  indeed, 
and  I  am  not,  before  I  could  submit  to  such  a  life  as  you 
l)ropose." 

"  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  you  are  not  very  ill,  but  you  are 
ill  enough  to  render  my  regime  absolutely  imperative.  Ab- 
solutely imperative." 

"  Is  my  illness  dangerous  ?  " 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Ah  !  But,  professor,  are  you  not  mistaken  about  the 
tumour  ?  The  fool  who  prescribed  for  me  has  allowed  a 
chill  to  settle  down  into  a  chronic  catarrh.     A  friend  of 


DISEASE.  65 

mine  has  much  the  same  symptoms  as  myself,  and  he  suffers 
from  a  chronic  catarrh." 

"Monsieur  le  Marquis,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  you  mast  not 
treat  this  affection  too  lightly.  I  will  not  answer  for  the 
consequences  if  you  do." 

Of  how  little  importance  it  all  seemed  to  him  now.  A 
week  ago  it  had  come  upon  him  as  the  greatest  catastrophe 
of  his  life.  To  have  something  serious  the  matter  with  one 
— well,  not  exactly  serious,  but  "requiring  care."  To  have 
to  change  one's  whole  mode  of  life — for  a  time,  of  course, 
on  one's  body's  account.  How  vexatious  !  And  he  was 
only  seventy-three,  while  Prasly-Latour  had  celebrated  his 
eighty-seventh  birthday  last  August  in  perfect  health.  The 
fates  were  unjust. 

All  this  was  vague,  and  far-away.  His  whole  previous 
existence  was  but  a  thin  dash,  as  a  prelude,  leading  up  to 
yesterday,  a  blot,  a  full-stoj). 

After  two  more  attacks  of  fierce  spasms  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  know  what  was  really  wrong.  Why  this  con- 
stant giddiness  ?  Was  his  brain  diseased  also  ?  He  would 
go  into  a  foreign  country,  where  he  would  be  free  to  speak. 
Amsterdam  was  close  by;  some-one  had  recommended  a 
professor  at  Amsterdam,  who  had  cured  somebody  else  of  a 
swelling  somewhere.     He  went  to  Amsterdam. 

Why  had  he  insisted  upon  this  man's  laying  bare  the 
whole  truth?  He  did  not  really  want  to  know  it.  He 
would  much  rather  not  have  known  it.  Oh  the  blessed 
ignorance  of  yesterday  morning !  Oh  the  blessed  cruel 
doubt  of  yesterday  morning !  Oh  the  happiness  of  that 
torturing:  Is  it?  compared  with  this  irrevocable:  "  It  is." 

He  had  come  out  from  that  chamber  of  judgment  with 
but  one  idea  :  Escape.  Anywhere,  away  from  the  truth, 
from  himself.  Not  back  to  old  acquaintances,  familiar 
faces,  how  are  you's — I  hope  you're  better  ;  come  and  dine. 
Anywhere,  into  some  quiet  corner,  unknown,  to  hide  his 
suffering  in  a  hole,  like  a  cat  or  a  dog.     It  was  chance  that 


66  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

luul  prevented  liis  going  farther  than  Deynum.  He  hud 
intended  to  push  on — somewhere — into  Germany,  miscalcu- 
lating his  strength. 

lie  knew  little  of  illness,  hut  of  fl/is  illness  he  knew. 
lie  had  seen  it  take  its  course  in  his  wife.  Yet,  he  now 
told  himself,  her  symptoms  had  been  so  different.  .  All  the 
preliminaries  of  his  own  case  had  been  omitted ;  only  the 
final  agony  had  come,  sharp  and  swift.  It  never  occurred 
to  him  what  she  might  have  endured  in  silence.  He  cursed 
his  fate  which  dealt  more  hardly  with  him. 

He  shuddered.  The  horror  of  a  continuous,  hopeless 
agony  was  upon  him.  Xonsense,  he  was  exaggerating.  She 
had  not  really  suffered  so  much.  She  seldom  complained. 
He  did  not  remember  any  very  terrible  paroxysms.  And 
yet  he  had  received  a  general  impression,  from  doctors  and 
nurses,  from  occasional  sights  and  sounds — still,  he  may 
have  exaggerated.  He  regretted  that  he  had  not  asked  her 
oftener  about  her  sufferings.  He  would  have  known  better 
now. 

There  were  maladies  in  which  you  suffered  more  than 
in  cancer.  There  must  be.  He  tried  to  think  of  them. 
He  might  have  been  a  life-long  leper,  like  his  friend,  the 
Duke.  He  tried  to  feel  thankful  that  he  had  not  been  a 
life-long  leper. 

He  broke  into  a  horrible  laugh.  And  then  again  he 
took  up  the  book.  For  one  thing  he  was  thankful,  that 
last  night  had  come  to  an  end,  and  that  it  was  day  again, 
wet  and  miserable,  but  day. 


CHAPTEE  X. 

A   SHEPHERD    AXD   TWO    SHEEP. 

Meanwhile  Antoine  wandered  disconsolately  to  and 
fro  in  the  solitary  village-street,  his  trousers  turned-up  to 
an  unnecessary  degree,  his  shiny  umbrella  dripping  low 
over  his  bended  shoulders. 

"Ah,  your  turn  has  come  at  last,  has  it,  old  ten  per 
cent?"  he  murmured  over  and  over  again,  with  quiet  glee. 
"  Great  lords  kick  everybody  under  them,  and  the  greatest 
lord  is  Death,"  he  chuckled.  He  had  an  unpleasant  way  of 
chuckling  internally,  with  melancholy,  long-drawn  face. 
The  idea  of  the  impending  catastrophe  appeared  to  afford 
him  distinct  satisfaction.  He  gave  it  utterance,  letting  it 
linger  on  his  tongue,  like  a  lozenge,  as  an  antidote  against 
the  damp. 

He  stopped  to  stare  along  the  deserted  road. 

"A  pretty  name,"  he  said,  speaking  of  the  village. 
"  And,  for  the  rest,  beastly — like  many  a  girl." 

Meditating  thus,  in  a  manner  worthy  of  his  philosophic 
mind,  he  dribbled  down  a  little  lane,  which  seemed  to  lead 
nowhere.  "  In  ten  minutes  more  I  shall  go  back,"  he  re- 
solved, "  and  shall  tell  the  old  fellow  anything  he  may  care 
to  believe.  What's  the  use  of  his  stupid  questions?  To- 
morrow, at  the  latest,  we  move  on." 

At  this  moment  an  energetic  tapping  caused  him  to  lift 
the  umbrella  off  his.ears.  Ho  had  reached  a  low  tenement 
which  stands  well-hid  behind  an  over-crowded  strip  of 
garden,  winking,  as  it  were,  Avith  one  eye  over  a  tall  box- 


(3S  THE   (JREATER   GLORY. 

hedge.  If  3'ou  look  at  it  closely,  you  will  see  that  it  is  a 
little  more  pretentious  than  its — distant — neighbours  in  its 
simple  unpretentiousness.  It  is  larger  and,  if  possible, 
neater,  and  one  or  two  concessions  have  been  made  in  erect- 
ing it  to  other  .considerations  than  those  of  the  barest  utility. 
"  Erecting  "  is  an  incorrect  word  ;  it  lies  prone  beneath  the 
trees.  And  just  now  it  was  a  thing  of  most  wondrous 
beauty  to  gaze  upon,  for  the  whole  irregular  length  of  its 
mixed  up  apartments  and  out-houses  was  ablaze,  like  a 
magnificent  sunset,  with  the  all-luminous  death  of  a  great 
Virginia  creej^er.  Antoine  saw  notliing  of  this,  not  even 
the  glittering  eaves,  till  he  had  found  a  little  gate  to  peej^ 
through. 

"  Presumably  meant  for  me,"  he  said.  "  "Whoever  she  is, 
she  must  be  hurting  her  hand.     I  hope  she's  young." 

The  knocking  increased  in  energy. 

"  I  fear  not,"  sighed  Antoine,  still  peering  under  his 
umbrella.  "  Xo  woman  under  forty  would  knock  as  loud 
as  that." 

The  knocking  ceased  and  a  portly  figure  in  black  ap- 
peared at  the  door,  a  low  door,  half-hidden  under  a  porch. 
The  figure  was  making  signs  with  the  pipe,  across  the  mists 
of  rain. 

"  An  old  one,  of  course ;  like  my  luck,"  grumbled  An- 
toine, who  was  near-sighted  (ocularly  only).  "  Well,  a  glass 
of  cognac  will  not  come  amiss  this  damp  morning." 

"Push  it !  "  shouted  Father  Bulbius  in  Dutch,  with  vio- 
lent gestures  of  both  arms  and  the  pipe.  Then  he  cried : 
"  Pussy ! "  which  is  French  and  means  the  same  thing. 

"  Yes,  you  may  yell,  old  lady,"  muttered  Antoine,  vio- 
lently jerking  the  recalcitrant  latch.  "  Hang  this  gate ;  it's 
as  virtuous  as  a  Mother  Superior.  Hi,  you  there,  you  must 
come  and  let  me  in,  if  you  want  me  at  all  I  " 

He  desisted.  Whereupon  Bulbius,  with  a  mighty  re- 
solve, in  which  courtesy  and  curiosity  triumphed  over  cau- 
tion, hitched  up  his  cassock  as  high  as  was  permissible — a 


A  SHEPHERD  AND  TWO  SHEEP.        69 

little  higher — and,  holding  it  resolutely  out  on  both  sides, 
with  the  pipe  sticking  crossways,  commenced  a  gingerly  zig- 
zag over  the  puddles. 

"  Black  !  "  soliloquized  Antoine.  "  A  widow  presuma- 
bly. Well,  widows  take  most  trouble.  Here  she  comes.  It 
is  the  mountain,  evidently,  on  its  way  to  Mahomed.  It  is — 
Good  Heavens,  it  is  a  cure.  In  this  land  of  all  others !  But 
do  not  derange  yourself.  Monsieur  le  Cure  ! "  Then  he 
stood  aside,  bowing  and  scraping.  "  This  is  Veronica's  do- 
ing ! "  gasped  Father  Bulbius,  dropping  the  skirt  he  had 
tucked  between  his  knees,  as  he  rattled  at  the  gate.  "  She 
has  locked  it  again." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  another  figure,  gaunt  and  terrible,  ap- 
peared in  the  doorway,  and  a  big  bass  voice  came  booming 
through  the  wet.  "  Is  it  possible,  your  Reverence,  with 
your  baldness!  Is  it  permissible  thus  to  risk  one's  health? 
Ah  but  return  immediately!  Immediately!  Besides,  it  is 
useless,  for  /  have  got  the  key  !  "  And  Veronica,  the  Fath- 
er's housekeeper  (and  body-guard)  came  stalking  across  with 
straight,  upright  jerks  like  a  squirrel. 

"  Murder  will  out,"  snapped  Veronica,  "  but  I  say  :  Mur- 
der will  in.  Leastways  theft."  She  unlocked  the  little 
gate  with  the  very  big  key  which  she  held  in  one  bony 
hand.     "  Is  this — person  to  come  in,  your  Reverence  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  unless  you  have  left  the  table  loaded  with 
plate,"  replied  the  Father,  with  a  timid  attempt  to  banter 
her. 

"  There  are  other  valuables  besides  plate,"  retorted  the 
woman,  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  You're  nearest  to  your 
own  skin,  says  the  proverb,  and  I'm  sure  there's  no  one  else 
to  be  near  to  in  this  loneliest  of  lanes." 

The  priest  pushed  her  aside,  a  little  impatiently  for  him. 

"  Enterrez-vous,  Mesjeu?  "  he  said  with  a  polite  wave  of 
liis  hand.  The  movement  drove  his  long  pipe  backwards, 
causing  Veronica  to  start  away  with  a  snort  and  a  splash. 

"Shall  I  not  derange  you,  Monsieur  I'Abbe ?"  protested 


70  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

Autoiue,  bowing  bareheaded,  but  under  liis  umbrella,  where- 
in he  distinctly  had  the  advantage  of  Bulbius. 

"  Oh  no ;  I  am  not  at  all  deranged,"  replied  the  latter 
gentleman,  and  led  the  way  into  the  house. 

"  My  good  Veronica,"  he  said,  pausing  at  the  door  of  his 
den,  "  I  should  like  a  half-bottle  of  port." 

"  There  is  no  more  port,  your  Reverence,  and  it  seems  to 
me  that  for  a  man  who  has  been  out  in  the  damp,  a  good 
cup  of  coffee — " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  Father,  gently  closing  the  door  of 
his  sanctum  upon  her — and  motioning  his  guest  to  a  chair. 

There  was  not,  however,  a  vacant  one  in  the  whole  little 
room.  From  top  to  bottom  the  Parsonage  was  a  model  of 
primness  and  cleanly  discomfort,  angular,  empty,  white  and 
cold,  with  that  eternal  smell  of  polish  and  soap  and  ubiqui- 
tously slipi3ery  sloppery  in  which  the  soul  of  the  Dutch 
housewife  delights.  But  to  the  rule  of  this  general  un- 
habitability  one  exception  had  perforce  been  established. 
The  priest  had  made  a  stand  with  regard  to  his  own  little 
study.  On  the  first  day  of  the  month  he  permitted  his 
housekeeper  to  enter  and  "  clean "  it,  deserting  it  himself 
during  twenty-four  hours.  When  this  compromise  was  pro- 
posed to  her  as  the  result  of  long  weeks  of  battle,  ruse  and 
subterfuge,  Veronica  first  resigned  her  post,  and  then,  as 
the  Father  remained  unexpectedly  firm,  herself.  She  found 
some  consolation  in  ceaselessly  ascribing  all  the  ailments 
she  invented  for  him  to  the  unhealthy  condition  of  his 
apartment.  And,  seeing  that  an  indolent  man  always 
makes  far  more  litter  than  a  busy  one,  the  sanctum,  as  in- 
spected from  outside  the  window,  must  have  caused  agony 
to  a  swept  and  straightened  mind  like  Veronica's.  Father 
Bulbius  never  picked  up  anything, — and  he  had  an  apti- 
tude for  letting  things  fall, — nor  did  he  ever  replace  a  book, 
or  whatever  else  he  had  taken  down,  unless  there  was  an 
opportunity  for  putting  it  sideways,  or  topsy-turvy. 

He  now  hurried  to  an  easy  chair — all  his  chairs  bore 


A  SHEPHERD  AND  TWO  SHEEP.         71 

that  name,  and  deserved  it — and,  knocking  off  a  dusty  pile 
of  newspapers  with  one  hand,  while  he  hastily  passed  a  slip 
of  his  cassock  across  the  seat  with  the  other,  he  apologised 
in  broken  French  for  the  delay.  Then  he  waddled  to  a 
cupboard,  from  which  he  carefully^  extracted  a  quart  bottle 
and  two  small  glasses.  These  he  lield  up  to  the  window 
with  a  smile  on  his  broad  face  which  seemed  to  pour  a  sud- 
den flood  of  sunshine  over  the  rain-oppressed  little  room. 

"  You  are  doubtless,"  he  said,  "  the  stranger  of  yester- 
day. I  was  anxious  to  aflt'ord  you,  sir,  a  shelter  from  the 
wet.  I  regret  that  circumstances  rendered  this  difficult." 
He  stammered  out  his  words  under  a  hailstorm  of  mistakes, 
but  we  will  not  delay  ourselves  with  the  mistakes  and  stam- 
merings of  otbers. 

"  I  am  the  servant,"  said  Antoine  humbly,  "  of  Monsieur 
Farjolle." 

"  I  know.  That  is  what  I  meant,"  replied  the  Father 
hastily,  filling  the  glasses.  "  I  have  some  decent  cognac 
here.  In  spite  of  my  housekeeper's  objections,  I  occasion- 
ally take  a  little  as  a  remedy  against  the  damp." 

Lorij^ont  was  amazed  by  the  quality  of  the  liquor. 
Trust  a  gentleman's  gentleman  to  know.  But  the  truth  is, 
Father  Bulbius  loved  good  tobacco,  good  drinks,  and  good 
humour.  For  tbe  rest,  the  world  might  wag  as  it  listed. 
And  the  worst  thing  in  it  to  wag  was  his  housekeeper's 
tongue. 

"  Monsieur  your  master,  he  is  better  this  morning,  I 
hope  ?  " 

"He  is  very  ill.  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  said  Antoine  sol- 
emnly. 

"  So  I  hear.  So  I  hear,"  murmured  the  Priest,  mourn- 
fully shaking  his  fat  chin  over  his  elevated  glass.  "  I  hope, 
my  dear  friend,  that — "  he  hesitated.  He  was  going  to  say 
"  that  he  is  prepared,"  but  he  felt  this  to  be  still  too  early  a 
stage  of  their  interview — "  that  you  approve  of  the  brandy," 
he  said. 


72  THE   GREATER   GLORY. 

"  It  is  most  excellent,  Monsieur  le  Cure." 

"  "We  owe  it,  like  most  good  wines,  to  your  beautiful 
country.  Monsieur,"  said  the  Father,  lovingly  rocking  tlie 
golden  liquid  against  the  light. 

Antoine  was  silent.  His  master  had  expressly  com- 
manded him  to  disguise  their  nationality.  Belgium  is  so 
small  and  so  close  by. 

"  For  you  are  a  Frenchman,  I  presume  ? "  added  Bul- 
bius. 

"  I  am  a  Belgian,  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  replied  An- 
toine, W'ho  could  lie  to  anybody  on  earth,  excepting  to  a 
priest. 

"  A  Belgian — ah  !  "  The  Father  paused,  apprehensive 
of  a  presence  at  the  door. 

"  Here  is  the  coffee,"  came  from  the  passage  in  sepul- 
chral tones.  "  Will  your  Eeverence  take  it,  as  I  am  not 
permitted  to  intrude  ?  "  And  a  tray  was  proj^elled  through 
the  narrowest  aperture  imaginable,  Avith  a  brusqueness 
which  gave  to  the  very  cups  an  attitude  of  defiance,  as  they 
jumped  to  the  jerk. 

"  Xice  warm  coffee,"  said  Bulbius  meekly,  in  closing  the 
door. 

Lorijjont  dropped  a  scrutatory  glance  through  the 
depths  of  the  too  transparent  liquid,  which  glance  went 
down  deep  into  the  Father's  heart. 

"But  she  cooks  with  great  care,"  replied  the  Father 
apologetically,  "  the  dishes  she  likes.  She  says  her  instinct 
advises  her  what  is  wholesome.  My  instinct " — his  eyes 
twinkled — "  is  invariably  wTong,  she  says.  But  this  is  un- 
gracious," he  cried  suddenly,  "  and,  to  a  stranger,  offensive. 
It  is  right  I  should  not  care  too  much  about  eating,  and 
Veronica's  peculiarities,  I  trust,  will  be  looked  upon  up 
yonder  "^le  pointed  to  the  ceiling — "  as  something  of  an 
excuse  for  the  quality  of  this^^ — he  ticked  his  fat  finger 
against  his  glass. 

"  But  your  Eeverence  is  very  comfortable  here,"  replied 


A  SHEPHEED  AND  TWO  SHEEP.        73 

Antoine,  a  little  ironically.     "  I  see  you  have  farm-buildings 
attached." 

"  Ah,  that  was  unavoidable.  I  have  to  occupy  my  house- 
keeper. If  you  are  married,  you  will  know  that  a  woman 
devotes  at  least  all  her  spare  time  to  her  neighbour's  affairs. 
A  dangerous  quality  in  the  house  of  a  parish  priest.  Veron- 
ica is  always  complaining  that  she  has  too  much  to  do.  So 
she  has,  although,  by-the-bye,  she  insisted  on  getting  the 
cows,  when  I  was  ordered  fresh  milk.  It  is  necessary  that 
she  should  have  too  much  to  do.  And,  besides,  the  griev- 
ance keeps  her  in  a  pleasantly  bad  temper.  She  would  not, 
for  the  world,  do  less." 

Antoine  Loripont  smiled.  He  had  an  immense  venera- 
tion for  the  clergy  which  was  altogether  indejiendent  of 
their  personal  faults  or  peculiarities.  It  rested  solely  on  the 
consideration  that,  if  death  should  happen  to  be,  not  an 
ivipasse,  but  a  passage  (so  he  expressed  it),  the  guards  at 
the  farther  gate  would  wear  the  livery  of  the  Pope.  "  Pour 
s'assiirer  une  bonne  place  au  spectacle,"  the  fellow  said  bru- 
tally, "  il  faut  avoir  de  bons  amis  dans  les  coulisses."  And 
he  was  superstitious,  with  all  the  superstition  of  a  weak 
cynic  and  evil-liver. 

The  guest's  smile  recalled  Father  Bulbius,  already  half 
ashamed  of  his  garrulity.  But  oh  the  splendid  opportunity 
for  pouring  out  pent-up  grievances  into  patient  ears  that,  on 
the  morrow,  would  bear  them  hundreds  of  miles  away  !  He 
could  not  have  ventured  to  speak  thus  fearlessly  of  his 
"  house-cross "  to  the  family  at  the  Castle.  The  smaller 
our  world  is,  the  larger  are  its  ears. 

"  I  am  breaking  the  ninth  commandment,"  he  now  con- 
fessed with  rueful  countenance.  "And  worse.  In  those 
days  a  man's  neighbour  alone  was  protected  :  it  was  deemed 
incredible  that  one  should  speak  evil  of  those  of  his  own 
house." 

And  to  himself  he  added :  "  You  who  are  yearning  to 
pump  this  stranger,  who  called  liim  in  on  purpose,  you  ac- 


74  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

cuse  others  of  being  busy-bodies.  Oh,  Bulbius,  you  hypo- 
crite, I  shall  punish  you  as  you  deserve."  He  took  out  a 
little  much-faded  pocket-book  from  beside  his  bulgy  breast. 
In  this  little  book  he  carefully  made  a  little  note.  It  was 
his  record  of  penances,  and  wheueVer  he  realized  that  he 
had  wronged  a  fellow-creature,  he  wrote  down  a  punish- 
ment for  himself  in  it.  Let  it  be  hastily  added,  for  the 
benefit  of  those  who  feel  an  affection  for  the  poor  old 
father,  that  the  self-inflicted  penances  were  not  overwhelm- 
ingly heavy.  He  did  not  scourge  himself,  for  instance.  lie 
had  tried  it  once,  gently,  but  found  that  it  hurt. 

Loripont's  keen  eye  watched  the  little  book  with  great 
interest.  It  recalled  to  him  his  own  daily  dealings  with  the 
Marquis.  "  You  have  other  intercourse,  however,"  he  said. 
"  The  carriage  which  so  kindly  brought  my  master  from  the 
station — "  And  the  Father's  stream  of  chatter  babbled 
over  into  another  channel,  and  he  sang  the  praises  of  Dey- 
num  and  the  Baronial  house  of  Eexelaer.  "  An  oasis," 
remarked  Antoine,  "in  this  wilderness  infested  by' the 
Gueux." 

"  True,"  replied  the  Father  demurely.  "  Yet  I  have 
known  Protestants  who  were  good  men."  He  was  not  go- 
ing to  allow  a  Belgian  to  abuse  Hollanders  in  his  presence. 
"  The  pity  is  that  they  refuse  to  be  converted ;  at  least,  so  I 
have  often  been  told.     Help  yourself,  my  friend." 

"  I  will  take  a  drop  more  of  this  coffee,  with  your  Eev- 
erence's  permission,"  replied  Antoine,  reaching  over  for  the 
cognac-bottle  and  grinning  in  the  Father's  face. 

Then  he  rose.  "  You  will  not  be  here  for  any  time?" 
queried  Bulbius,  who  had  really  got  nothing  out  of  the 
stranger,  after  all. 

"  Oh,  no,  we  shall  probably  be  leaving  to-night." 

"  But  your  master  !  He  is  dying.  Should  he  have  any 
need  of  spiritual  comfort — " 

"  I  grieve  to  say,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  that  my  master  is  an 
atheist  and  an  infidel." 


A  SHEPHERD  AND  TWO  SHEEP.        75 

Father  Bulbius  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  as  he  accompanied 
the  faithful  son  of  the  Church  to  the  door. 

In  the  porch  Antoine  stood  stilL 

"  Infidels,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  when  they  die,  go  to  hell, 
do  they  not  ?  " 

The  priest  wagged  his  head  to  and  fro.  "  Undoubted- 
ly," he  said — with  great  hesitation. 

"Then  my  master,  when  he  dies,  will  go  to  hell?"  per- 
sisted Antoine. 

"  Let  us  hope  he  will  not  die  an  infidel,"  said  Bulbius 
gently.  "Poor  fellow,  you  must  implore  the  Virgin  for 
him.  You  are  a  good  man.  If  you  stay,  come  and  see  me 
again." 

"  Your  Eeverence — if  your  Reverence  has  not  caught 
cold  already — "  cried  a  sonorous  voice  from  the  kitchen. 

The  Father  fled  back  to  his  room. 


CHAPTER  XL 

"  EXTEE    l'aKBRE    ET   L'ECORCE." 

For  the  twentieth  time  the  Marquis  laid  down  his  book 
and  glanced  at  the  travelling-clock  which  stood  ticking 
nervously  beside  him.  "  He  does  it  on  purpose,"  murmured 
the  Marquis.     "  I  cannot,  I  will  not,  be  alone." 

Even  at  that  moment,  had  he  known  it,  his  solitude  was 
coming  to  an  end.  For  the  landlady  was  stumbling  up- 
stairs in  a  frantic  hurry,  tripped  up  by  her  loose  slippers  as 
they  dropped  away  from  under  her  feet. 

"  The  Landheer  !  "  she  gasped,  falling  over  her  various 
belongings  and  snapping  her  apron-strings.  "  I  hope  he 
didn't  see  that  my  back-hair's  come  undone." 

She  thumped  vigorously  at  the  door,  and  then — for 
though  foreign  gentlemen  might  be  terrible  possibilities, 
the  "  Landheer  "  was  a  magnificent  fact, — she  "  irrupted  " 
recklessly  into  the  bedroom,  crying  :  "  The  compliments  of 
Mynheer  the  Bai'on,  and  his  Xobleness  desires  to  know  how 
the  strange  gentleman  is  !  " 

The  Marquis  moved  one  white  hand  in  delicate  protest. 
"  Go  away,"  he  said  softly,  in  broken  Dutch.     "  Go  away." 

Hendrika,  though  delighted  to  hear  her  own  language, 
stood  "  struck  all  of  a  heap,"  as  she  afterwards  declared,  by 
the  strange  gentleman's  attire.  Long  white  robes,  in  her 
simple  mind,  were  connected  with  the  least  dressed  of  un- 
dress only.  Doubtless,  distinguished  foreigners  wore  such 
night-garments  as  these.  "  Oh  la !  "  she  said.  She  was  an 
apple-faced  young  woman  without  any  figure  to  speak  of. 


"ENTRE   L'ARBRE   ET   L'ECORCE."  77 

She  fell  back  a  step  or  two.  "  Mynheer  is  waiting.  Please 
give  an  answer.  I'll  shut  my  eyes,"  said  Hendrika,  and 
suited  the  action  to  the  word. 

The  Marquis  sat  staring  indignantly  at  the  nncouth, 
crimson-cheeked  figure,  which  stood  untidy  before  him, 
with  tight-screwed  eyelids  and  pendent  arms.  The  woman's 
talk  was  of  course  incomprehensible  to  him ;  her  manner 
made  him  uncomfortable.  "  Perhaps  some  sort  of  an  idiot," 
lie  thought.  "  But  one  cannot  throw  things  at  a  woman. 
I  wish  she  would  take  herself  off."  And  he  rang  the  hand- 
bell, as  a  last  resource,  for  he  was  neither  strong  enough 
nor  sufficiently  attired  to  move  from  his  chair.  He  hoiked 
that  that  summons  might  bring  up  the  landlady. 

It  caused  that  personage  timidly  to  open  one  eye. 
Whereupon,  beholding  the  stranger's  horrible  expression 
and  the  uplifted  hand-bell,  she  fled  behind  the  door,  giving 
the  Marquis  an  opportunity  of  which  he  immediately 
availed  himself,  to  send  half  a  dozen  heavy  articles  crash- 
ing up  against  the  panels,  as  the  best  means  both  of  fright- 
ening her  and  shutting  her  out.  Hendrika  shot  violently 
towards  Antoine,  and  that  gentleman,  pitching  her  anyhow 
down  the  staircase,  walked  into  his  master's  presence  with 
a  sneer  of  questioning  surprise. 

"  You  infernal  miscreant ! "  shrieked  the  old  man, 
threatening  him  with  the  last  thing  he  had  snatched  up,  a 
big  paper-knife.  "  How  dare  you  leave  me  to  be  insulted 
by  every  hussy  that  cares  to  come  and  stare  at  me  ?  Are 
you  showing  me  to  the  village  for  a  penny  ?  I— I  believe 
you  would  do  it." 

"  Monsieur  will  be  heard,"  retorted  Loripont  calmly, 
"  by  the  gentleman  at  the  foot  of  the  staircase." 

"  Gentleman  !     What  gentleman  ?  " 

"  The  gentleman  who  brought  us  from  the  station.  He 
is  asking  for  Monsieur  le  Marquis.  Monsieur  de  liexelaer, 
I  presume." 

"  I  will  see  him,"  said  the  Marquis,  after  a  moment's  re- 


78  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

flection.     "  And  you,  with  your  everlasting  clumsiness  about  • 
my  title,  mind  not  to  betray  who  I  am." 

But  the  insulted  Ilendrika  had  meanwhile  conveyed  to 
the  Baron  the  information  that  the  old  creature  upstairs 
was  out  of  his  mind.  He  had  abused  her  and  thrown  things 
at  her,  and  he  had  even  refused  to  hear  anything  concern- 
ing his  Xobleness  the  Baron.  "  And  I  should  never  have 
taken  him  in  at  all,"  argued  the*' landlady,  "  but  for  your 
Xobleness's  commands.  My  inn  is  intended  for  respectable 
people  from  market,  not  for  foreigners,  no  one  knows  why, 
whither  or  whence." 

"No,  no,  it  is  some  misunderstanding.  You  will  see; 
he  will  pay  well,"  answered  the  Baron  soothingly,  as  he 
turned  away. 

But  Antoine  stopped  him  and  ushered  him  into  the 
presence  of  "  my  master.  Monsieur  Farjolle."  And  the 
Angel  who  watches  over  the  fortunes  of  Deynum  looked 
from  one  face  to  the  other  in  tremulous  doubt.  Perhaps 
he  realised,  vaguely,  that  this  was  the  beginning  of  the  end. 
For  angels,  whatever  they  may  foresee — pure  eyes  are  far- 
seeing — cannot  read  the  future  2^1ainh^  They  know  that 
God's  goodness,  like  man's  evil,  is  boundless;  they  remem- 
ber the  Past.  But  the  problem,  for  them  as  for  us,  still  re- 
mains an  equation,  in  which  the  fourth  quantity,  the  Future, 
is  eternally  marked  with  a  cross. 

"  I  had  not  intended  to  intrude,"  said  the  Baron,  bowing 
stiffly. 

"  It  were  cruel  to  deprive  me  of  a  pleasure.  Monsieur," 
replied  the  Marquis,  all  urbanity,  motioning  his  visitor  to 
one  of  the  rush-bottomed  chairs.  "  Have  I  the  pleasure  of 
speaking  to  Monsieur  de  Pieselaer  de  Deynum  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  my  name,"  said  the  Baron,  with  a  quiet 
little  glow  of  pride.  He  was  nearly  sixty ;  he  had  never 
learnt  to  suppress  the  feeling  altogether. 

"  Mine  is  Farjolle,  Monsieur  le  Comte." 

"  Ah  no ;   pardon  me,"   said  the   Baron  promptly,  but 


"ENTRE  L'ARBRE   ET   L'ECORCE."  79 

with  ail  awkwai'd  blush.  "  That  is  another  family  alto- 
gether ;  they  spell  their  name  diiferently.  Count  Kexelaer 
is  no  connection  of  mine."  He  hesitated  a  moment.  "I 
am  Baron  Eexelaer  of  Deynum,"  he  said. 

A  complicated  look  of  confusion,  vexation  and  incredu- 
lity came  over  the  Belgian's  face.  "  Impossible,"  he 
thought.  "  Some  quarrel.  But,  evidently,  it's  the  wrong 
man."  Aloud  he  said  :  "  I  liave  yet  to  thank  you — "  "  It 
is  nothing,  it  is  nothing !  "  from  the  Baron — "  ah,  but  in- 
deed, you  cannot  rob  me  of  the  pleasure  of  being  indebted 
to  you.  Monsieur  le  Baron." 

"  The  old  j)eacock  will  betray  Jiimself  at  once  by  his 
strut,"  soliloquised  Antoine,  where  he  stood  behind  his 
master's  chair.  "  And  why  shouldn't  he  ?  It's  only  half 
a  masquerade  at  the  best,  this  stupid  joke  about  Farjolle." 

The  Marquis  turned  round,  as  if  he  had  understood. 

"  Get  you  downstairs,"  he  said.  "  And,  if  there's  any- 
thing edible  in  the  house,  you  may  eat  it." 

"  Then,"  said  the  simple-hearted  Baron.  "  Why  not 
increase  so  trivial  a  pleasure  by  accepting  the  hospitality  of 
my  house  till  you  can  proceed  on  your  travels  ?  " 

The  Marquis's  face  clouded  with  the  painful  memory  of 
the  last  word.  "  There  will  not  be  much  more  travelling," 
he  said,  "  I  thank  you  sincerely.  Monsieur.  But  I  am  too 
ill  to  be  anyone's  guest."  An  ashen  j^allor  lay  over  his 
sharp  features.  He  had  aged  since  yesterday.  The  chin 
seemed  lengthening  out  upwards,  as  if  striving  to  come  in 
contact  with  the  eagle-nose.  Yet  he  had  fixed  in  his  teeth 
as  usual  that  morning,  and  they  fitted  as  well  as  ever. 

"  On  that  very  account — "  began  the  Baron,  "  but  I  do 
not  press  you,  though  our  worst,  simple  people  as  we  are, 
would  be  better  than  this."  He  swept  his  arm  round  the 
room.  "  Besides,  it  is  hardly  worth  your  while  perhaps.  I 
liope  you  are  feeling  well  enough  to  continue  your  journey." 

"  Excuse  me ;  I  am  not  going  to  continue  my  journey. 
I  am  going  to  stay  here." 


80  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

The  Baron  stared  in  imdisguised  amazement.  His  frank 
eyes  somewhat  disconcerted  the  man  of  the  world. 

"  I  was  not  on  my  way  to  any  j)lace  in  particular,"  con- 
tinued the  Marquis  hastily.  "Mine  was  a  journey  of  — 
pleasure.  I  was  looking  for  a  quiet  spot  in  which  to — rest. 
This  seems  a  charming  one," 

"  It  is  indeed,"  acquiesced  the  Baron  emphatically. 

"Just  so.  Do  you  know — perhaps — of  some  small  fur- 
nished house  I  could  hire  in  the  village?  Excuse  my  trou- 
bling you  with  my  private  affairs.  For  the  moment  I  can- 
not travel.  Xor  can  I  remain  in  this  room — "  with  an 
expression  of  extreme  disgust. 

The  Baron  sat  thinking  for  a  few  moments,  an  earnest 
desire  to  be  of  use  distinctly  marked  on  his  manly  face. 
Then  he  looked  up  with  an  eager  smile  of  satisfaction.  "  I 
have  an  idea,"  he  said,  "  I  must  go  and  inquire."  And  he 
hurried  away,  without  waiting  for  the  other's  premature 
gratitude.  On  the  staircase  he  looked  at  his  watch.  "  I 
mustn't  keep  Gertrude  waiting  lunch,"  he  thought. 

Two  hours  later  he  appeared  at  the  Parsonage  and,  re- 
ceiving no  answer  to  his  knock,  walked  straight  through, 
into  his  Eeverelice's  study. 

"His  Eeverence  is  in  bed,"  said  a  deep  voice  behind  the 
intruder.  It  was  the  worst  part  of  Veronica's  tyranny  that 
she  showered  verbal  reverence  uj^on  the  victim,  out  of  sea- 
son, and  out  of  sense. 

"  111  ?     Dear  me,  he  was  well  enough  last  night." 

'■'■And  came  home  in  the  rain,"  replied  Veronica,  im- 
pressively.    There  was  reproach  in  her  eye. 

"  But  icith  an  umbrella,"  expostulated  the  Baron. 

"  Umbrellas  are  no  protection  against  the  under-damp," 
retorted  Veronica  enigmatically.  "  The  under-damp  is  es- 
pecially dangerous  to  fat  men.  It  rises  alongside  the  thin 
ones,  but  it  strikes  against  the  fat  men  and  upsets  them." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  the  Baron.  "  Well !  "  And  he  pushed 
deliberately  past  her.     Veronica  followed  grumbling.     She 


"ENTRE  L'ARBRE   ET   L'ECORCE."  81 

feared  no  one  on  earth  where  her  priest  was  concerned,  but, 
still,  the  Lord  of  Deynum  was — the  Lord  of  Deynum. 

The  Baron  opened  the  bedroom  door,  and,  as  he  did  so, 
a  scramble  was  heard  and  the  thud  of  something  heavy  col- 
lapsing into  something  soft.  Father  Bulbius  was  discovered 
in  bed,  the  clothes  pulled  up  tight  under  his  double  chin, 
his  face  melting  with  heat  and  more  purple  than  ever. 

Veronica  came  stalking  after  the  visitor.  "  Is  it  com- 
fortable, your  Keverence?"  she  inquired  with  solemn  in- 
terest. 

"  No,"  replied  the  Father  without  looking  up.  "  It 
hurts."  There  was  resentment  in  his  tone.  He  was  actu- 
ally sulky. 

"  So  it  ought  to,  if  it's  to  draw  out  the  cold  " — but  at 
this  stage  the  Baron  bundled  out  the  handmaid — with  his 
eyes — and  closed  the  door  behind  her. 

"  Had  you  not  better  lock  it,  Mynheer  the  Baron  ? " 
suggested  a  faint  voice  from  the  bed. 

No  sooner  had  this  hint  found  acce23tance  than  Father 
Bulbius  threw  off  the  bed-clothes  and  sat  erect.  With  an 
almost  piteous  "  By  your  leave,"  he  removed  a  sticky  yellow 
mass  from  his  ample  breast  and  laid  it  beside  him  on  the 
pillow.  The  Baron  stood  watching.  "  I  cannot  understand 
you,"  the  latter  burst  out  wrathf ally.  "  It  is  indeed  time 
that  I  renewed  my  oft-repeated  proposal  to  deliver  you.  In 
fact  I  am  here  with  that  object.  Send  the  woman  away 
and  come  and  live  with  us." 

"  But  I  liave  got  a  cold,"  protested  the  Father,  turning 
in  immediate  self-defence.  "  I  sneezed  twice,  I  assure  you, 
before  I  got  into  bed,  of  my  own  free  will." 

"  Then  put  on  your  plaster  again,"  replied  the  Baron 
grimly,  "  I  sha'n't  squeeze  my  hand  twixt  the  beech  and  the 
bark.  But  my  advice  is  :  send  the  woman  away."  He 
hesitated  a  moment ;  then  he  said  abruptly,  "  You  give  up 
this  place,  which  you  and  she  are  always  declaring  un- 
healthy and  declaiming  against,  and  you  come  and  live  at 


83  TOE  GREATER  GLORY. 

the  Castle,  as  you  have  often  said  you  would  like  to  do.     It 
is  a  deliverance,  my  good  Bulbius." 

The  parsonage,  properly  speaking,  of  Deynum  was  a 
poor  little  house  near  the  church  ;  the  Chaplain  who  served 
the  Castle-chapel  had  always  lived  with  the  family.     Tlie 
Protestant  minister  came  across  from  the  village  of   Rol-' 
lingen. 

"  And  where  would  Veronica  go  to  ? "  queried  the 
Priest. 

"To  the—,"  the  Baron  checked  himself.  "To  her 
relations.  Isn't  she  always  telling  you  that  she  ought 
really  to  leave  you  and  attend  to  some  old  creature  at 
home?" 

"  Ah  yes,  but  she  merely  says  that  because  she  wants  to 
have  the  old  lady  here.  Veronica  has  a  venerable  great- 
aunt  of  ninety-three,  so  deaf  she  can  hear  nobody's  voice 
but  Veronica's.  Veronica  certainly  has  a  splendid  voice. 
And  perhaps  I  am  rather  selfish  " — this  ruefully — "  but  " 
— with  sudden  triumph — "  you  see,  I  doii't  have  her,  Myn- 
heer the  Baron,  which  proves  that  I  possess  a  will  of  my 
own." 

"  Then  use  it,  and  come  to  the  Castle." 

"  It  is  most  kind,  but  I  could  not  expect  it  of  Veron- 
ica." 

"  I  have  an  opportunity  now,  such  as  will  never  occur 
again,  to  rid  you  of  lease,  furniture  and  all." 

"  You  tempt  me  sorely,  ]\Iynheer  the  Baron,  but  just 
think  of  Veronica." 

"  Oh,  I'll  settle  Veronica,"  cried  the  Baron,  and  ran  from 
the  room. 

Father  Bulbius  sank  back,  smiling  contentedly,  on  his 
pillow.  But,  almost  simultaneously,  he  started  up  with  a 
shriek.  And  his  bald  head,  as  he  hastily  removed  the  burn- 
ing mess  into  which  he  had  dropped  it,  shone  like  a  lobster 
through  its  sauce. 

"  Veronica,  I  hear  you  are  anxious  to  return  to  your 


"ENTRE  L'ARBRE  ET  L'ECORCE."  83 

relations  ? "  cried  the  Baron,   suddenly  appearing  in    the 
kitchen. 

The  old  housekeej)er  was  busy  among  her  pots  and 
pans.  In  fact,  she  was  preparing  another  plaster.  She 
turned  round  very  slowly.  "  I  never  said  so,  Mynheer  the 
Baron,"  she  answered,  more  slowly  still.  "  Did  his  Eever- 
ence  ?  " 

The  Baron  was  a  little  taken  aback  by  the  solemnity  of 
her  manner.  "  Oh  come,"  he  protested.  "  And  there's  your 
aunt,  you  know,  who  is  ninety-seven,  and  who  can  hear  no 
voice  but  yours.  You  have  undoubtedly  a  very  fine  voice, 
my  good  Veronica." 

"  Mynheer  the  Baron  is  very  kind.  My  great-aunt  is 
barely  ninety-one.  Has  your  Nobleness  a  candidate  for  my 
place  with  his  Reverence  ?  " 

"  His  Eeverence  is  coming  to  live  at  the  Castle.  This 
house,  Avliich  is  so  unhealthy,  is  going  to  be  let." 

Veronica  slowly  put  down  the  plaster  which  had  lain 
steaming  in  her  hands.  "  Not  like  that,"  she  said,  and  her 
deep  tones  sounded  like  the  distant  roll  of  thunder.  "  Ex- 
cuse me,  Mynheer  the  Baron,  but  I  can't  believe  it  of  his 
Reverence.     Not  this  house.     Not  like  that." 

"  And  why  not  this  house  ?  "  inquired  the  Baron  impa- 
tiently.    "  You've  grumbled  enough  at  it  for  years." 

She  turned  upon  him  almost  fiercely.  "  And  you.  Myn- 
heer the  Baron,  would  you  sell  Deynum  ?  " 

He  did  not  deign  to  answer  her  impudence  directly.  He 
only  said  :  "  And  your  aunt,  whom  it  is  your  Christian  duty 
to  look  after  ?  And  your  master,  whom  the  damp  is  killing, 
you  say  ?  " 

She  started,  and,  for  a  moment,  a  swift  tremble  shook 
her.  "  True,"  she  said,  and  marched  straight  past  the 
liaron  into  Bulbius's  room.  She  entered  so  quickly  that  the 
invalid  had  not  time  to  replace  his  cataplasm. 

"  It  is  true,"  she  began  abruptly,  "  that  the  damp  is  bad 
for  your  Reverence.     It  is  especially  bad  fur  fat  people  be- 
7 


84:  TIIP]  GREATER  GLORY. 

cause  of  the  '  underdamp.'  Tlie  '  wonder-doctor '  told  me 
who  cured  my  aunt  of  her  fidgets.  So  I  know.  And  my 
grand-aunt  Avants  me  badly,  and  you'll  be  more  comfortable 
at  the  Castle.     And  the  Baron  is  right." 

"Nonsense,  Veronica,"  murmured  Bulbius  in  a  shrill 
whisper  from  among  the  bedclothes.  "  Shut  the  door.  Do 
you  mean  to  say  you  have  told  the  Baron  you  are  willing  to 
go?" 

"  So  be  it.     He  is  right." 

"  Fiddlesticks.  And  who  will  attend  to  my  require- 
ments as  you  do  ?  I  love  the  people  at  the  Castle,  but  I 
can't  go  and  live  with  them.  You're  the  only  person  in  the 
world  who  can  cook  my  porridge  exactly  as  I  like  it,  or  who 
can  m-ix  my  grog  of  nights.  And  there's  my  posset  after 
service — and — and — " 

"  And  Flora  with  that  calf  coming,"  burst  in  Veronica. 
"  And  the  pigs  that  won't  be  fit  to  kill  for  another  month, 
at  least.  And  there  never  was  anyone  like  your  Eeverence 
for  wearing  holes  in  your  black  stockings,  and — " 

"  Go  and  tell  him  that  you  can't,"  cried  his  Eeverence. 
"  Go  and  tell  him  immediately  that  you  won't.  There's  a 
jewel  of  a  woman  !     Go  and  tell  him  that  yoii  wonH^ 

"  But  he'll  think  I'm  grudging  your  Reverence  a  health- 
ier residence." 

"  But  he'll  misunderstand  my  refusal  to  enter  his  family." 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Veronica  again,  and  marched  to  the 
door. 

Before  she  reached  it,  it  was  opened  from  the  outside  by 
the  Baron  van  Eexelaer.  That  gentleman  had  tired  of  the 
saucepans.     "  So  you  see.  Father,  it's  all  settled,"  he  said. 

"  No,  I  cannot.  Mynheer  the  Baron,"  Veronica  was  be- 
ginning heroically;  but  Bulbius,  brought  face  to  face  with 
the  crisis,  arose  in  his  bed,  and  to  the  occasion. 

"  It  is  settled  that  we  decline  your  kind  offer,"  he  said. 
"  There  are  too  many  objections.  And  I  do  not  think  I 
could  manage  without  Veronica." 


"ENTRE  L'ARBRE  ET  L'ECORCE."  85 

"  Your  Reverence,"  exclaimed  the  Baron  vehemently, 
*'  is  a  child  and  a  slave.  There,  there ;  you  may  forgive  me 
to-morrow.  You  won't  think  better  of  it?  No,  really? 
Then  keep  on  your  house  for  that  woman.     Good-bye." 

He  ran  away  in  a  rage.  He  was  mightily  offended. 
Veronica  stood  watching  him  from  the  porch.  "  And  you 
might  as  well  sell  Deynum  ?  Why  don't  you  ?  "  she  said 
when  she  thought  he  was  out  of  hearing.  But  she  had  mis- 
calculated the  strength  of  her  splendid  voice. 

The  poor  Father,  much  perturbed  by  his  patron's  dis- 
pleasure, drew  his  little  book  of  penances  from  under  his 
pillow  and  made  a  note  in  it.  The  plaster,  endured  from 
simple  good-nature,  was  a  point  to  the  good.  "  It  is  true," 
he  said  to  himself,  "  that  I  am  ridiculously  susceptible  to 
wet  feet.  And  Veronica  really  takes  most  excellent  care  of 
me.  On  Sundays,  especially,  she  is  altogether  tractable,  but 
it  cannot  always  be  Sunday."  Then  he  yawned,  and  got 
out  of  bed,  and  wondered  what  Veronica  would  say  to  that. 

But  she  said  nothing,  when  she  came  in  presently,  with 
red  eves. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    HEIRESS   AXD    HER    SQUIRE. 

The  Barou's  anger  had  cooled  somewhat  before  he 
reached  the  little  posteru  which  leads  from  the  bottom  of 
the  lane  into  his  own  park.  He  walked  slower,  having 
started  with  a  run.  And  his  footsteps  suddenly  died  into 
stillness  on  the  sodden  leaves  which  filled  up  the  narrow  by- 
jjath,  as  he  wound  slowly  forward  into  a  wilderness  of  russet 
and  gold.  Evening  was  falling,  with  that  tearful  sadness 
which  often  heralds  an  autumn  sunset,  and  the  pale  sky  was 
visibly  grooving  gray  and  blurred  above  the  sharp  outlines  of 
the  fading  trees. 

His  own  trees.  He  knew  them,  individually.  You  can- 
not understand,  unless  yon  have  had  trees  yourself.  They 
possessed  faces  Avith  which  they  met  his  eyes,  in  every 
change  of  joy  or  sorrow.  He  knew  them  as  the  colonel  of  a 
regiment  knows,  or  should  know,  his  numerous  men.  He 
always  had  a  ready  approval  for  the  fine  fellows  that  did 
their  work  bravest,  budding  early  and  blooming  late,  but 
also  a  gentle  thought  of  indulgence  for  the  weak  ones,  the 
stragglers,  and  an  understanding  that  their  lesser  beauties 
were  not  so  much  the  result  of  evil  intention  as  an  accident 
of  circumstance  or  place. 

He  stopped  to-day  before  an  old  oak,  far-spreading  and 
stately,  but  dead  at  the  top.  He  eyed  it  lovingly.  It  stood, 
sombre  and  lonely,  in  a  little  clearing,  bordered  by  a  curve 
of  lighter  trees.  He  remembered  how  it  had  begun  to  de- 
cay in  his  father's  time,  and  what  an  outcry  there  had  been 


THE   HEIRESS  AND   HER  SQUIRE.  ST 

when  the  fact  was  first  discovered.  He  might  have  recalled 
annual  conversations  with  his  steward  always  in  the  same 
stereotype  form.  "  It  will  do  as  it  is  for  the  present,  Die- 
vert."  "  Yes,  Mynheer  the  Baron."  "  It  is  a  pity  that  this 
particular  tree  should  take  to  going."  "  So  it  is ;  so  it  is. 
Mynheer  the  Baron."  From  time  immemorial — to  the  vil- 
lagers— it  had  been  called  "  Lady  Bertha's  Oak,"  because  of 
the  little  daughter  of  the  house  who,  climbing  recklessly  up 
into  its  bosom,  had  been  caught,  as  she  slipped,  in  the  arms 
of  a  fair,  sad  lady  that  must  have  been  the  Blessed  Virgin 
herself,  and  borne  safely  to  the  ground.  The  little  Freule 
Bertha  had  seen  and  declared  it ;  it  was  written  in  a  fif- 
teenth century  parchment  that  lay  emblazoned  in  the  ar- 
chives of  the  family,  and  a  weather-beaten  cross,  with  a  faint 
14:74  marked  upon  it,  still  leans,  crooked  and  moss-eaten,  in 
this  secluded  corner  of  the  park. 

"  It  will  last  my  time,"  said  the  Baron,  turning  away 
from  the  tree.  He  wandered  along,  sadly  meditating  that 
no  blessed  Virgin  was  likely  to  spread  her  arms  out  under 
his  little  Wendela's  threatening  fall.  Ah,  those  were  brave 
old  days  when  the  Saints  were  still  especially  interested  in 
us  gentry. 

"  But  it's  not  as  bad  as  that  yet,"  said  the  Baron,  shak- 
ing off  his  gloomy  thoughts.  "  With  Strum's  help  I  shall 
find  money  for  the  mortgages.  I  dare  say  my  primary  ob- 
ject with  Bulbius  was  selfish.  I  should  have  let  the  house 
at  a  far  higher  price  to  this  Monsieur  de  Farjolle,  or  per- 
haps sold  it.  Dear  me,  I  wonder  now  whether  I  had 
thought  of  that  ?  " 

Somebody  was  moving  in  the  brushwood.  He  turned  to 
the  slight  rustle,  attentive,  as  country  gentlemen  are.  You 
miglit  find  a  stray  pheasant  here  occasionally,  but  it  was  too 
early  in  the  day  for  poachers.  The  man  came  slouching 
along,  one  of  his  own  labourers.  The  Baron  stopped,  slowly 
remembering,  as  the  rustic  saluted  him.  "  Your  little  boy 
better  this  evening,  Sam  ? "     "  Yes,  thank  you,  landheer. 


88  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

lie's  but  poorly,  thank  you.  And  we  remain  humbly 
thankful  to  Mynheer  for  the  broth."  The  broth  was  his 
wife's  doing.  He  met  her,  as  lie  turned  into  a  broader 
avenue,  a  basket  on  her  arm  and  their  little  daughter  by 
her  side. 

"AVell,  and  have  you  succeeded,  mon  ami?  "asked  the 
Baroness,  his  confidante  in  this  as  in  all  other  matters  but 
one. 

"No,  indeed,"  cried  the  Baron,  with  a  sudden  rekin- 
dling of  his  wrath.  "  The  man  is  a  fool ! "  And  he  savagely 
struck  at  the  lemon-colored  leaves  of  a  chestnut  which  hung 
drooping  perpendicularly  from  their  stem. 

"  Be  silent,"  said  the  Baroness  in  English.  Her  pale 
eyes  lighted  with  reproof.  "  How  can  you,  Keinout,  speak 
in  that  manner,  and  before  the  child,  of  a  priest  ?  " 

The  Baron  was  eloquent  in  no  language,  least  of  all  in 
English.  He  walked  on  in  silence,  and  presently  held  out 
his  hand  to  his  daughter,  who  took  it  gravely,  without  a 
change  in  her  brown  eyes.  She  drew  it  against  her  mother's 
white  woolly  shawl.     "  Isn't  it  nice  and  soft  ?  "  she  said. 

They  came  in  sight  of  the  house.  The  chill  avenue 
widened  out  gradually  to  a  clear  tract  of  grass,  on  which 
the  dark  forms  of  browsing  deer  moved  indistinct  beneath 
the  drooping  twilight.  Against  the  far  horizon  the  park 
began  afresh,  a  great  half  circle,  black  beneath  the  slaty 
sky,  but  illumined,  at  one  point,  by  a  steady  crimson  flare, 
where  the  weak  sun  had  sunk  away.  In  the  distant  fore- 
ground, beyond  the  meadow,  spread  the  brown  mass  of  the 
Castle,  enclosed  by  a  moat  whose  current,  invisible  here, 
shone  dully  a  little  farther  off.  The  sombre  brickwork  rose 
naked  from  the  water,  a  confused  mass  of  buttresses  and 
excrescences,  with  a  great  square  tower  and  a  couple  of 
smaller  round  ones,  all  jumbled  uj?  together  under  a  fanci- 
ful tracery  of  weather-cocks,  peaks,  and  flourishes,  and 
a-glitter  in  the  shimmer  of  its  countless  dull-blue  windows 
and  its  topmost  ball  of  Atlas  against  the  dying  light. 


THE   HEIRESS  AND   HER  SQUIRE.  89 

"  How  cold  it  is  getting !  "  said  the  Baroness.  "  We 
stayed  too  long  with  Mother  Bosnian.  She  is  sinking 
fast." 

Wendela  had  lagged  behind  to  stare  after  a  long- vanished 
sqnirrel. 

"  Are  yon  sure,"  questioned  the  Baron,  waveringly, 
"  that  it  is  quite  advisable  to  take  the  child  to  see  old 
women  die?" 

"  ^lost  decidedly.  She  cannot  too  soon  learn  the  respon- 
sibilities of  her  future  position.  Besides,  she  is  no  longer 
so  young.  She  will  soon  be  admitted  to  the  Communion 
at  the  same  altar  where  one  of  her  ancestresses  stood  up  to 
be  married  at  her  age." 

"  Betrothed,  my  dear.  Elizabetli  van  Rexelaer  was 
fourteen  when  she  married.     And  those  were  other  days." 

"  We  are  never  too  young  to  become  acquainted  with 
suffering,  if  our  lot  be  cast  among  the  great  in  this  world," 
said  Mevrouw  van  Rexelaer,  "  When  I  was  twelve,  my 
dear  mother  lay  dying  of  consumption,  and  I  was  her  only 
nurse." 

"  But,  then,  you  had  always  a  most  remarkable  char- 
acter," said  the  Baron  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart. 

They  had  paused  by  the  bridge  which  leads  to  the  court- 
yard, a  brick  courtyard  with  a  stone  road  down  and  round 
it,  nasty  for  horses  in  slippery  weather.  Tubbed  orange- 
trees  stand  here  during  the  brief  months  of  a  northern 
summer,  in  stately  lines  across  the  square  and  up  the  wide 
stone  steps.  Some  of  these  orange-trees  are  said  to  be  two 
hundred  years  old.  They  are  giants  to  move,  twice  a 
year,  with  much  groaning  and  creaking.  And  successive 
Baronesses  have  worn  a  sprig  of  their  blossom  in  bridal 
wreaths,  and  afterwards  dutifully  made  preserve  of  their 
fruits  every  summer,  until  the  Baronesses  themselves,  in 
their  turn,  were  soldered  into  leaden  cases,  with  their  faded 
bit  of  orange-blossom,  and  all  their  hopes  and  fears,  to  be 
hidden  away  in  the  vault  under  the  chai)el.     Ill-luck  to 


00  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

tlie  bride  wlio  noirlcctcd  tlie  orange-trees;  the  White 
Baroness's  own  marriage  had  been  dehived  till  the  flowers 
came  out. 

"  I  have  sometliing  still  that  I  wish  to  sec  about,"  mur- 
mured the  Baron,  pausing  on  the  bridge. 

"  But,  mon  ami,  why  do  you  always  run  out  into  the 
sunset  ?     Come  within.     It  is  the  w^orst  time  of  day." 

"  Xo,  no ;  I  have  things  of  importance  to  attend  to." 
lie  turned  away  quickly,  then,  recollecting  himself,  came 
back  after  his  wife,  and  led  her  across  the  dusk  of  the  court- 
yard and  kissed  her  hand  upon  the  steps. 

"  Why  is  it,  Keinout  ?  "  she  asked  abruptly.     "  What  ?  " 

"  One  worries  sometimes  about  the  mortgages.  It  is 
nothing." 

"  The  lady  sighed.  "  Wanda  I  "  she  cried.  "  Where  is 
Wanda  ?  " 

"  She  has  lagged  behind.  I  will  send  her  to  you."  He 
went  back  under  the  shadow  of  the  great  black  walls.  By 
the  bridge  he  met  his  daughter.  "  Go  in  to  your  mother, 
Wanda,"  he  said. 

"  But  I  want  to  come  with  you,  Papa." 

"  Oh,  no.  Go  in  immediately."  He  disappeared  into 
the  darkness  of  the  trees.  The  Bourse  was  long  over  ;  the 
day's  quotations  were  in  print  and  would  presently  reach 
him.  Xevertheless  was  he  anxious  to  kneel  at  the  altar  be- 
fore he  went  on  to  "  The  Mountain."  He  did  not  reason 
about  these  things.     Xor  do  you. 

"  I,  when  I  am  grown  up,  I  shall  do  as  I  like,"  said 
Wendela  to  herself  in  French.  Xot  a  child  that  was  ever 
born  but  has  found  comfort  in  those  delightful  words,  since 
little  Cain  first  muttered  them,  when  his  mother  ordered 
him  to  put  on  his  furs  again.  Even  Abel  must  have 
thought  them. 

"  I,  when  I  am  grown  up,  I  shall  do  as  I  like,"  said 
Wendela.     Then  she  added  "without  being  naughty,"  and 


THE  HEIRESS  AND   HER  SQUIRE.  91 

ran  away  iu  tlie  wake  of  her  father.  She  did  not,  however, 
follow  him  into  tlie  chapel,  a  pardonable  divergence  when 
it  is  remembered  how  frequently  she  was  obliged  to  accom- 
pany the  Baroness  thither.  She  branched  down  a  lane 
wdiicli  leads  to  the  kitchen-garden  and  orchards,  and,  when 
she  got  close  to  the  garden- wall,  she  gave  a  shrill  whistle,  a 
most  unladylike  thing  to  do. 

The  whistle  was  answered,  and  a  small  boy's  form 
loomed  out  of  the  darkness,  on  the  top  of  the  wall. 

"  Are  you  there,  Piet  ?  " 

"  See  I  am,  Freule." 

"  Why  don't  you  say  '  Wendela,'  Piet?  " 

'"Cause  you're  twelve  now.  I  told  you  I  should  never 
say  '  Wendela '  again." 

"  There  !  you've  said  it." 

"  IS'ever.  I  told  you  so  on  your  birthday.  You  know  I 
did,  when  I  brought  you  the  peaches." 

"  You  stole  the  peaches,  Piet." 

"  I  tell  you  I  didn't.  I  worked  for  them  with  Father. 
I  never  stole  anything  in  my  life.  It's  mean  of  you  to  say 
that  again." 

"  And  I  didn't  eat  them.  I  wouldn't  'cause  you 
wouldn't  say  '  Wanda.'  You  remember,  Piet,  I  threw  them 
away." 

"  I  know  you  did.  It  wasn't  nice  of  you,  Freule.  I'd 
worked  for  them  real  hard,  three  half-holidays." 

"  Well,  say  '  good  evening,  Wanda,'  now." 

"  I  sha'n't.     Don't  worry,  Freule.     You're  too  big." 

"  Oh  you  rude  boy.    I  wish  I  were  bigger,  and  I'd  hit  you." 

"  You  can  hit  me  now  if  you  like.  I'll  come  down.  I 
don't  mind  being  hit  by  a  girl." 

"  You  don't  mind  'cause  you  think  I  shouldn't  hurt 
you.  But  I  should.  You're  afraid  of  being  hit  by  your 
father." 

"That's  not  true,  Freule.  I  don't  care  when  Father  hits 
me." 


92  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

"  Well,  then,  get  me  a  pear.     One  of  Llie  French  ones." 

"  I  won't,  Freule.     I  tell  yon,  I  don't  steal." 

Wendela  blnslied  scarlet  in  the  dark.  "  I  don't  want 
yon  to  steal,"  she  said  hotly.  "  What  a  horrid  hoy  yon  are ! 
Ain't  I  the  heiress  of  Deynum  ?  " 

"  And  don't  I  tell  you  this  year's  pears  ain't  next  year's 
pears?  When  you're  the  lady  of  Deynum,  you  may  kill 
yourself,  eating  pears." 

"  So  I  shall,  if  my  husband's  as  bad  as  you  are." 

"  Oh,  stop  that.  We  left  off  being  husband  and  wife 
three  years  ago." 

"  But  people  canH  leave  off  being  husband  and  wife,  un- 
less they're  '  Gueux.'  Mamma  says  so.  You  wouldn't  be  a 
'beggar,'  Piet?" 

"  No,"  cried  Piet  Poster  with  great  vehemence,  kicking 
his  feet  against  the  wall. 

"  Well,  if  you  leave  off  being  my  husband,  you  must  be. 
You  are.     You  are." 

"  Don't  call  me  a  '  beggar,'  Freule.  If  you  do,  I'd  al- 
most— " 

"Almost  what— ?" 

Piet  Poster  clenched  his  fists  behind  his  back.  "  I'm 
going  away,"  he  said. 

But  this  was  not  what  the  little  lady  wanted.  "  I  won't 
say  it  again,"  she  cried.  "  Look  here,  Piet,  when  we're 
grown  up,  I  shall  really  marry  you,  and  then  you'll  be  lord 
of  De3mum.  You'd  like  that,  wouldn't  you?  And  then 
you  could  scold  your  father." 

"  All  right.     What'll  the  Baron  say  ?  " 

"  Oh — oh — oh  !  I  say,  Piet,  I  didn't  come  to  talk  about 
that.     I  came  to  tell  you  about  his  Reverence." 

"  What  about  his  Reverence  ?  "  asked  Piet  in  a  reveren- 
tial tone. 

"  He  knows." 

"  What  about  ?     The— the  cats— the— !  " 

"  Xo,  about  his  cap." 


THE   HEIRESS   AND   HER  SQUIRE.  93 

"  I  say !     Who  told  him  ?     How  did  he  find  out  ?  " 

"  I  told.     I  couldn't  help  it." 

"  Oh  you  sneak." 

"  I  tell  you  I  couldn't  help  it.  And  it  was  such  fun. 
You  should  have  seen  his  face  ! " 

"  Well,  I  didn't  see  it,  so  it's  no  fun  to  mo.  I  think  it 
was  rightdown  mean  of  you,  Freule.  We  sha'n't  be  able  to 
have  any  more  bets."  He  spoke  in  a  very  disgusted  tone, 
and  began  slipping  down  from  the  wall. 

"  Piet !  Listen  Piet !  I  shouldn't  have  wagered  again 
anyway.    I  think  it's  wrong  " — this  last  rather  hypocritically. 

"  You !  I  was  thinking  of  the  boys.  C  ood-night, 
Freule." 

"  I  say,  Piet !  you  won't  tell  I  told  ?  " 

"  Tell !  No.  You'd  better  be  going  home.  It's  getting 
dark,  and  you'll  be  afraid." 

"  You  need  not  be  rude  as  well  as  unkind,"  replied 
Wendela,  moving  off  in  dignified  displeasure.  She  turned 
back  for  a  jjarting  shot.  "  Telling  lies  is  every  bit  as  bad 
as  stealing,"  she  cried,  and  was  gone  without  saying  "  Good- 
night." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

BAROXIAL    BUSINESS. 

Next  morning  Xicholas  Strum,  the  Deynnm  lawyer, 
was  ushered  into  the  Baron's  private  room — a  lofty,  empty 
chamber  with  bare  Gothic  windows,  its  wainscoted  walls 
hung  with  trophies  and  implements  of  shooting  and  fish- 
ing. It  oj^ens  out  of  the  library.  The  Baron  was  not  a 
reading  man. 

The  Strums  have  always  been  the  notaries  of  Deynum, 
from  the  beginning — that  is  to  say,  of  the  Strums.  There 
has  been  a  time,  of  course,  when  there  were  Rexelaers  but 
no  notaries.  Ever  since  there  were  notaries  at  all,  however, 
the  Barons  van  Eexelaer  have  been  married  and  buried 
under  tlie  legal  surveillance  of  an  Andrew  or  a  Xicholas 
Strum.  The  present  man  was  Nicholas.  The  Baron  had 
preferred  Andrew. 

Andrew  had  been  old,  very  old,  from  his  earliest  youth, 
and  slow,  ponderously  slow — benignant,  bare-headed,  broad 
and  bow-backed,  absolutely  reliable.  Nicholas  was  tall  and 
heavy,  lanky,  lumpy,  and  loutish.  But  Nicholas  was  clever. 
He  had  been  born  in  a  stand-up  collar,  and  his  mother  had 
always  admired  whatever  he  said  and  did.  His  father  had 
shaken  a  massive  head  over  the  boy's  shrewdness.  But  that 
did  not  hurt  Nicholas,  who  admired  himself  even  more  than 
his  mother  admired  him.  Andrew  was  dead.  Nicholas 
was  very  much  alive. 

There  were  various  reasons  why  the  Baron  should  dis- 
like Nicholas.     One  of  these  was  what  Mevrouw  van  Eexe- 


BARONIAL  BUSINESS.  95 

laer  styled  the  "  lawyer's  brazen  infidelity."  The  Strums, 
of  course,  had  always  been  zealous  Eoman  Catholics,  but, 
Andrew  having  sent  his  son  to  the  University  of  Louvain, 
so  as  to  keep  him  free  from  contamination,  the  young 
man's  innate  spirit  of  contradiction  had  there,  under  the 
influence  of  rampant  nltramontanism,  developed  an  indif- 
ference to  matters  religious  which  had  branded  him  at 
home  as  a  "  liberal  Catholic,"  a  creature  almost  unknown  in 
the  Netherlands.  Originally  the  man  had  only  wanted  to 
go  his  way  in  peace,  but  the  conventional  horror  of  impiety 
and  liberalism  all  around  him  fast  drove  him  towards  radi- 
calism and  irreligion.  He  was  sick  of  the  cult  of  "  the 
Powers  that  be,"  in  spite  of  his  personal  respect  for  the 
Baron.  And  the  Rexelaers,  on  their  part,  would  have  pre- 
ferred to  break  with  this  un-Strum-like  Strum,  had  they 
seen  their  way  to  doing  so.  "  How  can  pence  develop  into 
pounds,"  asked  the  Baroness,  "  in  the  hands  of  a  man  who 
does  not  believe  in  miracles  ?  "  "  How  indeed  ?  "  said  the 
Baron.  "  You  may  w^ell  put  that  question  here."  And  he 
smiled,  by  himself,  as  he  had  always  had  to,  at  his  sad  little 
joke. 

"  Sit  down.  Strum,"  said  the  Baron. 

Strum  sat  down  and  gathered  his  long  legs  about  him. 
The  Notary  possessed,  quite  unconsciously,  two  manners 
which  had  but  one  quality  in  common.  He  was  either 
voluble  and  insolent,  as  soon  as  he  felt  that  he  had  got  the 
upper  hand,  or  silent  and  awkward,  when  in  the  presence  of 
a  stronger  power.  In  both  cases  he  was  rude,  often  chiefly 
from  shyness,  for  shyness  lay  at  the  core  of  this  big,  un- 
emotional-looking lump.  You  required  but  to  watch  his 
timid,  spectacled  eyes  to  see  that.  He  had  been  polite, 
according  to  his  lights,  to  Count  Rcxelaer,  a  possible  pa- 
tron. He  was  always  especially  volubly  insolent  to  the 
Baron,  from  a  fear  of  becoming  too  servile,  like  his  father, 
and  also  from  a  lawyer's  natural  contempt  of  financial 
embarrassment. 


00  THE   GliEATER  GLOliY. 

""Well?"  said  the  Baron,  after  a  moment's  cxjicctant 
silence.     He  coughed  uncomfortably. 

Strum  coughed  uncomfortably.  Then  he  broke  out  sud- 
denly, with  the  abruptness  of  a  popgun. 

"  Your  Xobleness  has  received  my  letter?"  The  Baron 
took  up  from  his  writing-table  a  paper,  which  he  had  been 
fingering  all  the  while. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  "  It  came  up  last  night.  But  why 
write?  Your  father  never  wrote  to  me  in  his  life,  Xicholas. 
And,  besides,  the  letter  tells  me  nothing.  Difficulties  about 
renewing  the  mortgage  !  Why  ?  Which  ?  It  is  a  couple  of 
months  yet  before  the  question  need  arise."  He  was  very 
agitated  already.  He  was  one  of  those  men  whom  the  very 
mention  of  "business"  agitates.  Not  having  grown  uj) 
within  its  inner  circle,  they  have  learnt  by  experience  that 
for  outsiders  all  "  business  "  practically  comes  to  legalized 
spoliation.  And  the  outsider  never  understands  the  trick 
till  it's  done. 

"  I  wrote,"  said  Strum,  "  immediately  after  my  final  in- 
terview with  the  Hague  bankers.  The  stakes  are  too  mo- 
mentous ;  the  sum  is  too  large."  He  jerked  forward  hisout- 
lying  foot  with  a  great  thump  at  nothing.  "  We  can't  wait 
till  the  latest  moment  which  is  often  a  moment  too  late,  as 
my  dead  father  used  to  say."  He  always  quoted  his  dead 
father  to — or  rather  against — the  Baron  van  Eexelaer. 

"  I  miss  him  every  day  of  my  life,  Mynheer  the  Baron," 
he  continued — a  mere  nervous  overflow  of  talk — ,  "  But 
most  of  all  in  these  great  transactions  with  regard  to  Dey- 
•  num.     I  miss  him  very  much." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  the  Baron,  with  very  different  conviction. 
"  Come  to  the  point.  Strum,  please.  Surely  tour  and  a  half 
is  a  sufficient  rate  of  interest." 

"The  interest  is  high  enough,"  began  Strum,  "they 
would  probably  renew  for  less — " 

"  Then  why  bother  me?  "  cried  the  Baron  with  a  gasp  of 
relief. 


BARONIAL  BUSINESS.  97 

The  young  Notary  made  a  deprecatory  movement  with 
his  left  hand,  ere  he  proceeded  to  crack  its  fingers  with  his 
right. 

"  Had  they  not  made  up  their  mind  not  to  renew  at  all," 
he  said.  He  drew  away  his  broad  lips  to  his  ears  as  he 
spoke,  revealing  a  set  of  irregular  yellow  teeth.  The  move- 
ment had  nothing  of  a  grin  in  it,  it  was  a  mere  muscular 
twitch  which  gave  his  face  an  expression  as  if  he  were  going 
to  swallow  you. 

"  The  risk  is  immense,"  he  went  on  hastily.  "  The  es- 
tate, valuable  as  it  is,  cannot  bear  the  continued  depreciation 
of  land.  They  will  sell  while  they  can  and  the  sooner  the 
better.  For  them  and  for  everybody,  I  should  say."  He 
spoke  blusteringly.  He  was  every  Jot  as  ill  at  ease  as  the 
Baron. 

"  Your  dear  departed  father  used  to  say,  Nicholas,"  re- 
marked a  low,  grave  voice  behind  him,  "  that  the  man  who 
does  business  for  gentlemen  should  always  be  a  gentleman 
himself."  The  Baroness,  smooth  and  colourless  in  her  laces, 
had  entered  noiselessly  througli  the  library-door. 

"  Chere  amie,  chere  amie,"  expostulated  the  Baron,  "  leave 
me  and  Strum  " — yes;  he  said  "  me  and  Strum  " — "  to  settle 
these  matters  between  us." 

The  Notary  was  boiling  internally,  but  he  only  boiled 
over  in  drops.  "  ]\Ievrouw,"  he  said,  with  a  great  crack  of 
his  curved  thumb,  "  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  all  parties, 
if  there  were  no  business  to  be  transacted  at  Deynum.  But 
the  fact  remains,  Mynheer  the  Baron,  that  the  mortgages 
will  not  be  renewed,  and  that  the  whole  immense  sum  of 
money  must  be  found,  which,  of  course,  is  impossible." 

"  How  do  you  know  what  is  possible  or  impossible  ?  " 
asked  the  Baron  haughtily. 

"  Only  in  so  far  as  your  man  of  business  can  judge." 

"  You  are  that,  but  not  my  confidant." 

"  I  should  be  neither  or  both.  Mynheer  the  Baron,  as  my 
father  used  to  say." 


9S  TIIP]  GREATER  GLORY. 

"  lie  never  said  it  of  you,  Xicliohis,'"  iutcrposcd  the 
Baroness.  She  had  been  standing  watching  his  clumsy 
twitches  with  pallid  contempt.  Slie  now  moved  away  to  a 
window-seat.  Her  vague  eyes  rested  on  the  distant  park. 
They  drew  her  husband's  in  the  same  direction.  He  had 
not  the  strength  to  remonstrate  again. 

Nicholas  bit  his  lips.  He  thought  he  could  manage  the 
Barou,  but  he  was  afraid  of  the  lady,  whom  he  cordially 
disliked. 

"  Of  course,  if  the  money  will  be  forthcoming,  so  much 
the  better,"  he  said.  "  In  that  case  I  need  not  further 
trouble  you  with  the  object  of  my  visit,  which  was  an  offer 
I  received  yesterday." 

"  What  offer  ?  "  asked  the  Baron,  a  little  shamefacedly. 
Strum  closed  his  eyes  behind  his  big  round  spectacles. 
"  The  bank  informs  me  that  an  excellent  opportunity  oc- 
curs— of  which  it  would  be  to  the  advantage  of  all  parties 
to  avail  themselves — for  transferring  the  whole  of  the  mort- 
gages into  other  hands,  into  private  hands,  as  I  under- 
stand." 

A  sudden  tremor  played  over  the  Baron's  face.  The 
Baroness  glanced  round  from  the  window,  and  then  back 
again  at  the  trees. 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  Baron  in  a  husky  voice.  "And 
that  is  why  they  refuse  to  renew.  Who  is  the  '  private 
person '  ?  " 

"  Xo  name  is  mentioned  as  yet." 

"  Were  you  aware,  Strum,  that  I  declined,  a  couple  of 
days  ago,  the  offer  of  a  certain  person  at  the  Hague  to  pur- 
chase this  place  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mynheer  the  Baron." 

"  You  were.  Then  you  knew  of  the  offer  before  it  was 
made.  Perhaps  you  suggested  it  during  your  stay  at  the 
Hague?"  The  Baron  was  not  a  good  hand  at  irony;  his 
voice  grew  louder :  "  It  is  a  conspiracy."  he  cried,  "  and  you 
are  in  it !  " 


BAROXIAL   BUSINESS.  99 

"  A  conspiracy,  if  you  like,"  replied  Strum  roughly.  "  I 
was  asked  my  opinion  as  to  the  advisability  of  such  a  pro- 
posal, and  I  said  :  Make  it,  by  all  means.  I  thought  it  the 
best,  the  only  solution  of  a  gigantic  difficulty.  And  I  think 
so  still.  I  should  call  this  anxiety  on  the  part  of  Count 
Kexelaer  to  purchase  the  place  a  most  wonderful  piece  of 
good-fortune ! " 

"  Count  Eexelaer,"  repeated  the  Baron.  "  Just  so.  You 
are  your  father's  son,  Nicholas,  and,  although  you  do  not 
know  as  much  as  he  did,  you  probably  know  enough  to 
understand  that  I  would  rather  see  this  house  a  smoulder- 
ing ruin  than  the  property  of  Count  Eexelaer."  He  turned 
upon  the  Notary :  "  You  had  no  right,"  he  said,  "  to  take 
both  my  pay  and  Count  Rexelaer's." 

Nicholas  Strum  returned  his  patron's  look,  full  in  the 
face.  Then  he  rose  as  majestically  as  his  ungovernable 
limbs  would  allow.  "  It  is  your  Nobleness's  good  pleasure 
as  it  is  your  prerogative,"  he  said,  "to  insult  your  in- 
feriors. But  such  insults,  as  my  father  used  to  say,  hit 
back,  like  guns.  I  acted  for  the  best."  And  he  left  the 
room. 

The  Baroness  drew  near  to  her  husband.  "  If  there  is 
not  money  enough,  we  must  live  still  more  simply,"  she 
said,  taking  the  woman's  view.  But  her  heart  sank  as  she 
thought  of  her  housekeeping-book. 

The  Baron  lifted  his  face  from  his  hands  :  "  Perhaps  I 
was  hard  on  Strum,"  he  said.  "  He  cannot  look  at  these 
matters  from  our  point  of  view." 

"  But  why  does  that  man  want  to  become  sole  mort- 
gagee?" 

"  It  is  next  best.  At  the  first  hitch  he  would  sell,  and 
— purchase." 

"  I  do  not  understand  exactly,"  she  said.  "  Do  you, 
dearest?" 

"  No,  I  do  not  understand  exactly,"  he  murmured 
humblv. 


100  THE  GREATER  GLORY, 

"  But  God  will  leave  us  Deynum,"  she  stiid,  and,  as  her 
cheek  touched  his,  she  burst  into  tears. 

Nicholas  Strum  went  tramping  downstairs  in  a  towering 
rage.  lie  was  very  much  wronged,  and  he  had  cause  to  be 
angry. 

"  Serve  them  right,"  he  said,  as  he  struck  his  umbrella 
viciously  at  the  oaken  banisters.  "  'Tis  like  this  that  the 
great  folks  make  themselves  hated,  with  their  beggarly, 
haughty,  ignorant  ways !  'Tis  a  sin  against  God  and  them 
to  come  lowering  their  greatness,  even  when  just  debts  have 
got  to  be  paid.  And  my  father  was  right,  as  that  White 
Creature  put  it :  '  Gentlemen  should  do  business  with  each 
other  and  for  themselves.'  I  wonder  how  they'd  manage. 
For  each  of  them  expects  to  give  all  the  kicks  and  to  get  all 
the  half-pence." 

Thus  righteously  grumbling,  he  went  in  search  of  Count 
Eexelaer,  Avhom  he  had  left  in  the  park. 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 

YOUNG     REINOUT    MEETS    HIS    UNKNOWN"    FRIEND   AGAIN. 

Upon  receiving,  through  his  own  Notary,  the  Baron's 
curt  and  absokite  refusal  to  enter  into  negotiations,  Count 
Hilarius  immediately  started  for  Deynum.  Matters  were 
coming  to  a  crisis.  He  had  succeeded,  after  months  of 
waiting  and  intriguing,  in  getting  himself  nominated  on 
the  Board  of  Directors  of  the  Bank  which  held  by  far  the 
greater  part  of  the  Baron's  enormous  mortgages.  Once 
there,  he  had  prevented  a  renewal.  And  now  the  suj^reme 
moment  had  arrived.  The  place  must  either  fall  into  his 
hands,  almost  immediately,  or  the  Baron  must  disjiose  of  it 
to  others  and  probably  lose  it  to  the  family  for  ever. 

The  Count  took  Reinout  with  him.  Monsieur  de  Souza 
being  laid  up  with  one  of  his  bad  attacks  of  gout  on  the 
chest.  And  nothing  delighted  Eeinout  so  much  as  a 
glimpse  of  the  country.  He  was  another  creature  there, 
away  from  the  straight  pavements  of  his  daily  life,  rushing 
to  and  fro  in  reckless,  aimless  animal  motion,  bewildered 
and  intoxicated  by  the  sounds,  the  smells,  the  great  sky 
overhead. 

Father  and  son  stood  in  a  clearing  in  the  woods,  from 
whence  they  could  get  a  vague  view  of  the  house.  They 
had  halted  there,  at  a  safe  distance,  leaving  Strum  to  pro- 
ceed on  his  errand.  To  Reinout  the  brisk  autumnal  walk 
had  been  a  source  of  overwhelming  amusement  and  interest. 
The  Count,  also,  enjoyed  this  first  sight  of  a  place  which 
had  been  the  Mecca  of  his  thouglits  ever  since  he  could 


1(»2  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

think  at  all.  It  caused  liiin  an  immense  satisfaction  to  re- 
turn the  salutes  of  the  rare  peasants  they  came  across.  He 
felt  a  sort  of  proprietorship  in  them. 

"  Look,  lieinout,  there  it  is ! "  he  cried.  "  The  home 
of  your  ancestors ! "  He  drew  his  son  towards  him,  and 
they  stood  gazing  side  by  side.  The  Count  was  deeply 
moved. 

An  indefinable  thrill  of  pride  and  disappointment  ran 
down  Eeinout's  back.  It  was  very  grand,  but,  after  all,  it 
was  earthly.  He  had  dreamed,  through  long  years,  a  dream 
of  the  intangible.  And  the  October  air  lay  chill  and  brown 
over  all  that  dreary  stretch  of  trees — and  the  shadowy  dis- 
tant building  with  its  feeble  film  of  ascending  smoke. 

"  It  isn't  a  bit  like  Brazil,"  he  said. 

The  Count  could  not  suppress  a  movement  of  impa- 
tience. Why  did  the  child  at  every  emergency,  always  say 
or  do  the  stupidest  thing  ?  "  Run  away,  and  play,"  he  said. 
And  Eeinout  eagerly  availed  himself  of  the  i^ermission. 
He  wandered  off  into  the  wood,  attracted  by  one  delight 
after  another,  and  ultimately  lost  his  way  and  came  out 
into  a  country-lane  Avhere  he  met  a  carter  who  drove  him 
back  to  the  village. 

The  village  he  found  almost  as  curious  as  the  woodlands 
surrounding  it.  He  inspected  the  Protestant  Church,  and 
took  off  his  cap  to  Father  Bulbius,  who  came  out  of  the 
Parsonage  to  have  a  look  at  him.  And  a  little  troop  of 
boys  having  collected  on  the  green,  he  distributed  his  pen- 
nies among  them.  Just  as  he  had  disposed  of  the  last,  the 
baker's  lame  child,  Tony,  came  limping  up  to  find  out  what 
was  going  on.  Eeinout  saw,  and  despairingly  felt  in  his 
empty  pockets.  Then  he  said  aloud  :  "  Oh,  I  can''t.  Mam- 
ma won't  mind,"  and  unfastened  a  small  gold  stud  which 
held  his  collar  and  slipped  it  into  Tony's  hand.  After  that 
he  took  refuge  in  the  public-house,  where  his  father  had 
told  him  they  would  have  some  bread  and  meat  before  leav- 
incf,  and  asked  Hendrika  for  a  bit  of  string. 


YOUNG  IIEINOUT  MEETS  HIS  UNKNOWN  FRIEND.   103 

The  Marquis  had  grumbled  for  forty-eight  hours.  He 
had  not  slept.  He  had  only  dozed,  grumbling.  He  had 
eaten  nothing,  but  he  had  drunken  a  few  cups  of  bouillon 
which  Antoine  had  concocted.  He  had  grumbled  over 
them. 

The  blow  which  had  struck  him  down  seemed  to  have 
paralysed  all  other  life  within  him  and  to  have  concentrated 
his  powers  into  one  persistency  of  grumbling.  It  was  an 
outlet  for  his  rage  against  God  and  himself,  a  safety-valve 
of  his  despair.  He  lay  back  among  his  pillows  grumbling. 
The  sun  was  climbing  the  white  sky.  The  sick  man  felt 
weak. 

"  I  must  get  up,"  he  burst  out,  infuriated  by  this  feel- 
ing.    "  I  never  could  stand  lying  down.     You  remember, 
Antoine,  how  weak  I  became  after  that  fall  with  my  horse." 
Antoine  said  he  remembered. 

"  True,"  said  the  old  man  eagerly.  "  Bed  does  not 
agree  with  me.  I  will  get  up."  Antoine  brought  his  dress- 
ing-things, the  new  ones.  The  Marquis  had  been  eager  for 
them  to  arrive,  and  had  not  looked  at  them  when  they 
came. 

He  now  allowed  himself  to  be  dressed,  with  many  out- 
bursts of  irritation  and  peevish  complaints.  And  in  the 
intervals  of  abuse  he  talked  of  the  accident  which  had  oc- 
curred a  couple  of  years  ago.  "  It  was  Belle-maman,"  he 
said.  "  You  remember  Belle-maman,  Antoine  ?  She  was 
not  a  bad  mare,  and  I  never  knew  her  to  stumble  before. 
She  took  fright  at  a  rascally  undertaker  whose  black  bands 
jfluttered  in  her  face.  Here,  don't  crumple  my  shirt,  you. 
You  don't  even  know  how  to  fit  in  a  stud." 

"We  all  of  us  take  fright  at  the  sight  of  something  ugly. 
Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  said  the  valet  politely.  He  was 
having  a  bad  time  of  it,  and  felt  vindictive.  The  Marquis 
talked  no  more  about  his  accident.  He  swore  till  his  toilet 
was  completed,  and  then  he  stood  gazing  for  a  moment  by 
the  window.     His  attention  was  attracted  by  the  little  group 


104  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

of  villago-cliildreu  and  the  central  figure,  with  its  graceful 
bearing,  distributing  largesse,  like  a  lord. 

"  It  is  the  same  boy,"  said  the  Marquis  instantly.  "  Then 
the  family  is  the  same,  after  all.  What  did  the  old  man 
mean  ?  "  He  turned  round  to  his  valet.  "  Help  me  down- 
stairs," he  said. 

"But  yes.  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  replied  Antoine  with 
alacrity.  By  the  time  the  jDair  had  stumbled  down,  Eeinout 
had  entered  the  inn-parlour,  and  they  found  him  confabu- 
lating with  the  landlady.  He  looked  up  as  the  door  opened, 
and  his  eyes  remained  riveted  on  the  sick  man's  face. 

"  You  remember  me  ?  "  said  the  Marquis  abruptly,  as  he 
sank  on  to  the  settle. 

This  question  put  an  end  to  the  boy's  doubts.  "  I  do 
now,"  he  answered  honestly.  "  You  are  the  gentleman  who 
gave  me  the  watch." 

"  And  you  are  Rene  de  Rexelaer.  I  also,  you  perceive, 
have  not  forgotten.     You  live  here  ?  " 

"  Xo,  Monsieur,  I  never  was  here  bsfore.  I  live  at  the 
Hague." 

"  And  this  Baron,  up  at  the  Castle,  he  is  your  uncle  ?  " 

"No,  Monsieur,  we  are  of  the  same  family,  but  two 
separate  branches.     We  do  not  know  each  other." 

Eeinout  stood  up  and  answered  like  a  man,  though  a 
little  embarrassed  by  the  string  in  his  collar.  Hendrika 
had  fled. 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  Monsieur,  unless  it  be  because  we  are 
Protestants.  Eovert  van  Eexelaer  became  a  Protestant  in 
1673." 

The  Marquis  smiled.  Ah,  that  was  the  reason  then.  He 
could  quite  understand  it.  These  country  bumj^kins  are  all 
alike,  he  thought. 

"  You  have  a  mother  ? "  he  asked  after  a  moment. 
"  Yes  ?     Describe  her  to  me.     What  is  her  name  ?  " 

"  Mamma  is  very  beautiful,  and  dark,"  said  Eeinout,  a 


YOUNG  REINOUT   MEETS  HIS  UNKNOWN  FRIEND.   105 

little  wonderingly.  "  Her  name  is  Margherita  cle  Cachenard. 
She  and  I,  we  come  from  Brazil." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  Marquis.  "  After  all,  I  am  ask- 
ing what  is  no  business  of  mine.  Now,  listen  to  me,  my 
child.  You  are  going  back  to  the  Hague  in  an  hour  or 
two?" 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,  as  soon  as  my  father  comes." 

"  Then  you  will  never  see  me  again.  You  remember  the 
adage  I  taught  you,  half  a  dozen  years  ago  ?  " 

Keinout  nodded,  half  a  nod  and  half  a  little  bow. 

"  A  gentilhomme  devoir  fait  loi,"  he  said. 

"  That  was  it.  I  had  forgotten,  myself.  Live  up  to  it. 
Make  it  a  truth.  I  have  not."  A  silence  fell  on  the 
gloomy  inn-jiarlour.  "  I  have  not.  Eh  ?  What  do  you  say 
to  that?" 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Keinout  simply. 

"  So  am  I."  The  old  man's  voice  sounded  true.  He 
staggered  up  and  motioned  to  his  impassive  servant. 
"Adieu,"  he  said  holding  out  his  hand.  The  boy  touched 
the  wasted  fingers,  and  in  the  solemn  stillness  the  old  man 
went  away. 

When  Count  Hilarius  reached  the  inn  half  an  hour 
later  he  was  in  a  very  bad  temper.  Everything  went 
against  him,  he  said,  and  all  on  account  of  a  pig-headed 
old  fool  that  desired  his  own  ruin.  He  was  angry  Avith 
Eeinout  for  looking  untidy,  and  annoyed  at  the  discovery  of 
Monsieur  Farjolle.  He  hesitated  about  sending  up  his  card 
to  that  gentleman.  It  would  be  absurd  to  return  the  watch 
after  all  this  time.  But  Antoine  came  down  and  said  liis 
master  was  very  ill  and  saw  no  one.  He  was  a  French  wine- 
merchant  ;  they  were  going  on  to  Paris  to-morrow.  So  the 
Eexelaers  went  away. 

That  evening  the  Baron  sent  oil  two  letters.  One  Avas 
addressed  to  his  Amsterdam  brokers  and  contained  a  final 


lOG  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

order  wliich  was  to  briug  him  immense  and  almost  certain 
success.  The  other  went  by  hand  to  the  village.  Its  con- 
tents were  as  follows : 

The  Baron  van  Eexelaer  van  Deynum  j^resents  his  com- 
pliments to  Mr.  Xicholas  Strum,  and  begs  to  apologise  for 
any  expression  he  may  have  made  use  of  this  morning  which 
could  give  Mr.  Strum  just  cause  for  offence. 

Castle  Deyxum,  Thursday  evening. 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Mynheer  Strum,  ungraciously 
throwing  down  the  piece  of  paper.  That  morning  he  had 
had  to  bear  Count  Eexelaer's  silken  ill-temjier  as  well. 
"  The  fellow's  afraid,  that's  all.  I  hate  these  aristocrats. 
There's  nothing  drives  you  wild  like  constant,  compulsory 
cringing.     I'm  sick  of  the  lot." 

His  old  mother  glanced  timidly  across  the  tea-table.  She 
knew  her  lord  and  master  was  in  a  bad  temper,  but  then, 
also,  she  was  of  an  inquiring  nature.  "  A  letter  from  Myn- 
heer the  Baron,"  she  said.  "  Are  you  commanded  up  to  the 
Castle  again  to-morrow,  Xicky  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered  roughly,  "  it  isn't  any  business  of 
yours,  mother.  I  wish  you'd  hold  your  tongue,  always  jab, 
jab,  jabbering  about  the  Castle." 

"  But  I  feel  what  a  privilege  it  is  for  you,  Xicky,  to  have 
all  the  great  Baron  van  Eexelaer's  business  to  do  just  as 
your  father  had." 

"  Hang  the  great  Baron  van  Eexelaer  !  "  cries  Xicholas. 
"  I  wish  I  could  send  him  about  his  business.  I'm  a  so- 
cialist, I  am,  mother.  There,  hand  me  the  newspaper. 
When  the  smash  comes,  there'll  be  no  more  Barons  van 
Eexelaer." 

"  And  no  more  notaries,"  said  his  mother  quietly.  She 
would  not  have  been  such  a  stupid  woman,  had  she  been  a 
little  less  fond  of  her  son. 


CHxVPTER  XV. 

"WHY    NOT,   M.   LE   MARQUIS?" 

The  next  couple  of  days  were  spent  by  the  Marquis  in 
a  semi-lethargic  condition,  the  result  of  the  nervous  torture 
he  had  undergone.  At  the  twilight-hour  on  the  second  day 
he  roused  himself  and  announced  his  intention  of  going  out 
for  a  walk. 

"  But  at  this  moment,"  remonstrated  Antoine.  "  And 
in  this  country,  with  the  falling  damps !  " 

"Am  I  to  go  out  when  you  choose?"  asked  the  invalid. 
"It  rained  all  yesterday.  I  am  sickening  in  this  musty 
room.     A  walk  will  do  me  good." 

The  valet  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Why,  after  all, 
should  he  waste  his  breath  ? 

"And  I  am  anxious  to  find  out,"  continued  the  Marquis, 
while  allowing  himself  to  be  as  carefully  arrayed  as  if  he 
were  going  to  a  garden-party  at  Laeken,  "  whether  it  is 
absolutely  certain,  as  tliis  Baron  wrote  me,  that  there  is 
nothing  to  be  got  in  the  village.  I  cannot  stay  any  longer 
in  this  miserable  inn." 

They  had  now  been  at  Deynum  nearly  four  days,  and 
Antoine  was  fast  losing  all  hope  of  getting  his  master  away. 
"  Indeed,  Monsieur  le  Marquis  has  delayed  here  too  long 
already.  The  smells  alone  must  be  injurious  to  health.  If 
Monsieur  le  Marquis  would  but  venture  just  a  little  journey 
farther—" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  replied  the  Marquis.  "  You  want  girls 
to  fiirt  with.     I  tell  you  again,  nothing  brings  on  these  tor- 


;^0S  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

rible  spasms  but  raihvay-travelliug.  I  have  had  them  three 
times,  and  each  time  immediately  after,  or  during,  a  railway- 
journey.  I  am  dying,  but  I  shall  die  in  my  own  way,  and  I 
shall  take  my  own  time  about  it.  You  would  like  to  have 
it  over  in  six  months.  I  am  going  to  take  a  couple  of  years 
to  do  it  in." 

He  said  this  but  he  did  not  think  it.  He  would  have 
acted  quite  differently  otherwise.  His  whole  strangeness  of 
behaviour  found  its  root  in  the  fallacious  conviction  that 
disease  had  numbered,  not  his  months,  but  his  days. 

"I  shall  die  at  Deynum,  if  I  choose,"  he  said.  He 
stumbled  along,  leaning  heavily  forward.  And  constantly 
he  would  pause  and  pretend  to  be  hunting  for  his  pocket- 
handkerchief.  "  I  have  caught  cold  in  those  infamous 
draughts,"  he  said.  And  he  lifted  the  handkerchief  to  his 
face  and  gasped  for  breath  behind  it. 

"  The  chillness  of  the  evening  air—"  began  Antoine. 

"  Silence.  Ah,  here  is  the  park.  It  is  really  very  good. 
But  it  is  not  as  good  as— home,  eh  ?  " 

Before  the  servant  could  answer,  the  master  broke  into 
a  violent  oath.     His   own   word  had  stabbed  him   like   a 

knife. 

He  shufBed  on  under  the  trees.  And  every  now  and 
then  he  righted  himself  and  strove  to  walk  straight,  and 
then  fell  forward  again  on  his  servant's  arm,  and  shuf- 
fled on. 

Presently  they  were  confronted  by  a  view  of  the  house. 
It  lay  asleep  in  the  solemn  Avater,  dark  and  still.  "  Good," 
said  the  Marquis  again.  "Simple,  but  good,"  and  shuf- 
fled on. 

It  was  not  till  they  had  turned  into  the  Long  Walk, 
which  leads  to  the  village,  that  they  came  upon  the  figure 
of  a  man  stretched  prostrate  across  the  path. 

Antoine  sprang  forward  with  a  cry  of  surprise.  The 
Marquis,  thus  suddenly  deprived  of  his  prop,  staggered  back 
in  the  impatient  effort  to  stand  alone. 


"WHY  NOT,  M.  LE  MxVRQUlSr'  109 

"  It  is  Mousienr  le  Barou ! "  cried  Autoiue,  lifting  the 
insensible  body. 

"And  what  am  I  to  do  with  Monsieur  le  Baron?"  re- 
plied the  Marquis  querulously.  "  It  is  hardly  presumable 
that  he  is  drunk.  He  has  probably  had  an  attack.  A  sick 
man  cannot  carry  a  dead  one." 

They  looked  round  helplessly.  "  Shout ! "  said  the 
Marquis.     "  We  are  not  far  from  the  house." 

Antoine  obeyed  and  sang  out  lustily.  The  Marquis 
pointed  to  a  white  mass  lying  beneath  a  tree  close  by.  An 
open  letter,  a  couple  of  newspapers, — the  evening  post. 

"  Shout  again,"  said  the  Marquis. 

A  child  came  running  up.  "  What  is  wrong  ? "  she 
asked  fearlessly.  "  Tiens,  des  enfants  maintenant!"  mum- 
bled the  Marquis,  "  Ma  petite,  this  gentleman  has  fallen, 
but  he  is  not  much  hurt." 

"  It  is  Papa,"  cried  Wendela.  "  Oh  poor  Papa  !  "  She 
was  struggling  with  her  tears,  to  the  Marquis's  alarm.  "  We 
must  carry  him  to  the  house,"  she  said,  having  mastered 
them.     "  You,  Monsieur,  will  you  help  ?  " 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  regret  sincerely,  but  I  cannot,"  replied 
the  Marquis  deeply  humiliated.  "  Surely  someone  will 
come." 

She  flung  him  a  look  of  incredulous  contempt.  "  I  can 
do  it,"  she  said,  and  vainly  tried  to  lift  the  heavy  foot. 
"  Halloo  ! "  cried  Antoine  again. 

"  Halloo,"  replied  a  bright  voice.  A  milkmaid  was  com- 
ing along  a  side-path. 

"  Ah,  Lise,  is  it  you  ? "  exclaimed  the  little  Freule. 
"  You  must  help  carry  Papa.  He  is  ill.  Tliis  gentleman 
is  not — strong  enough," 

But,  recalled  perhaps  by  the  shouting,  the  Baron  now 
stirred  and  muttered  and  opened  his  eyes. 

"  I  am  quite  well,"  he  stammered.  "  I  stumbled,  that  is 
all.  Where  are  my  papers  ?  Where  are  my  papers  ?  "  he 
repeated  excitedly. 


110  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

Antoine  gatliered  them  together  and  put  them  in  his 
hand.  The  Baron  rose  to  his  feet,  witli  the  valet's  assist- 
ance. "  Ah  pardon  !  "  he  said,  "  Monsieur — Farjolle."  The 
Marquis  was  leaning  against  a  tree  in  profound  disgust. 
What  a  disgraceful  thing  was  bodily  weakness !  The 
shadows  were  spreading  Avide  and  heavy.     It  was  cold. 

They  formed  into  a  little  procession,  the  Baron  leaning 
on  Antoine  Loripont's  arm,  the  Marquis  pretending  not  to 
press  on  AVendela's  shoulder.  The  old  gentleman  broke 
the  silence  once.  "  My  little  one,"  he  said,  "  some  day  you 
will  understand  the  suffering  of  not  being  able."  Wendela 
coloured  in  the  dark,  and  set  her  teeth  hard  to  bear  the 
weight  of  his  arm.  Lize,  with  her  clinking  pails,  brought 
up  the  rear,  her  cheerful  step  in  continuous  contrast  with 
the  slouch  of  the  others. 

"  I  keep  in  touch  with  your  shoulder,''  said  the  Marquis 
presently  to  his  companion,  "  because  1  am  afraid  of  a  false 
step  on  this  unknown  road.  I  hope  I  do  not  hinder  you  in 
any  way  ?  "  "  Xo,"  she  gasped.  But  she  did  not  ask  why 
he  still  clung  to  her  all  the  tighter  after  they  had  emerged 
into  the  open  near  the  house.  By  that  time  the  Baron  had 
almost  entirely  recovered  from  his  shock.  "  You  will  come 
in.  Monsieur,  and  rest?"  he  said,  turning  round.  "Glad- 
ly," replied  the  Marquis,  whereby  he  meant  that  he  was  too 
utterly  exhausted  to  decline. 

Once  in  the  house,  he  found  himself  compelled  to  re- 
main. The  two  horses  had  been  out  for  a  long  drive  in  the 
afternoon,  but  one  of  them  must  take  him  home  after  din- 
ner. That  meal  would  be  served  in  half  an  hour.  "  I  am 
all  right  again,"  said  the  Baron,  "  I  really  am  all  right." 
And  he  introduced  Monsieur  Farjolle  to  the  Baroness. 

That  lady  was  charmed.  A  gloom  hung  over  the 
household  since  the  interview  with  the  Notary.  The 
stranger's  presence  would  cause  a  diversion.  A  man  of  the 
world,  a  gentleman,  and  a  Catholic  ! — not  that  you  noticed 
anything  of  the  religion  ;  still  it  was  a  comfort  to  know  it 


"WHY  NOT,  M.  LE   MARQUIS?"'  m 

there.  And  the  Marquis,  who  had  locked  himself  up  in  his 
despair  since  first  it  closed  around  him,  was  astonished  to 
discover  that  he  could  still  laugh  and  talk — though  with 
weary  heart  and  body — in  the  courteous  nothings  of  social 
intercourse. 

Father  Bulbius  came  in  to  dinner — not  an  unusual  oc- 
currence— and  his  bright  face  clouded  over  with  impor- 
tance at  sight  of  the  other  guest.  After  having  kissed  the 
hand  of  the  lady  of  the  house,  at  imminent  peril  of  apo- 
plexy, he  wandered  away  to  the  Baron,  who  was  sitting 
wearily  in  the  shade. 

"  Do  not  let  me  disturb  your  Kobleness,"  said  the  Father, 
slowly  letting  himself  down  on  the  low  divan.  He  dropped 
his  voice  :  "  Have  you  any  idea  who  that  gentleman  is  who 
calls  himself  Monsieur  Farjolle  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  rejilied  the  Baron  quickly.  "  He  is  a  foreigner. 
He  calls  himself  Monsieur  Farjolle.     That  is  enough." 

"Ah,  but  his  servant  this  morning  let  fall  a  title  which 
aroused  my  curiosity.  I  questioned  him,  and  I  dis- 
covered— " 

The  Baron  stopped  him.     "Hush,"  he  said. 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,  of  course  I  heard  nothing  in  my 
official  capacity,"  cried  the  Father  bridling.  "  Surely  you 
know  me  better  than  to  imagine  that  the  secrets  of  the 
confessional — " 

"  I  know,  I  know,  your  Reverence.  Come,  let  us  talk  of 
something  else."  The  Baron  slowly  shut  and  reopened  his 
eyes,  that  sure  sign  of  exhaustion,  whether  of  body  or  brain. 

The  Marquis,  meanwhile,  was  praising  the  house  to  his 
hostess.  He  drawled  out  his  words  with  an  unconcerned 
ease  of  expression  which  seemed  conscious  that  men  would 
find  leisure  to  listen  as  long  as  his  Grandeur  found  inclina- 
tion to  speak. 

"  I  have  lived  here ;  I  shall  die  here,"  said  the  Baroness, 
bravely.  "  It  is  that,  I  suppose,  which  endears  the  place  to 
me  unspeakably.     But,  to  you,  Deynum  must  be  terribly 


112  THE  GREATER  GLORY, 

dull."  She  cast  a  commiserating  glance  at  the  old  man's 
hollow  face.  She  could  feel  for  all  the  various  moods  of 
rotiuement.  The  stranger  must  be  morbidly  afraid  of  the 
society  of  his  equals  to  put  up  with  the  accommodation  of 
the  village  inn. 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  like  the  country,"  said  the  Marquis.  He 
was  greatly  bored.  He  looked  down  at  his  smart  patent- 
leather  boots ;  there  was  a  splash  of  mud  across  one  of  them, 
and  it  persistently  drew  his  attention.  AVitli  one  carefully 
kept  hand  he  smoothed  his  white  moustache  and  curled  over 
his  ears  the  locks  which  were  neatly  drawn  forward  from 
the  parting  at  the  back  of  his  head.  He  was  not  dressed 
for  dining.  The  fact  did  not  discomfort  him ;  nothing 
could  have  done  that.     But  he  felt  annoyed  by  it. 

"  I,"  said  the  child,  who  had  drawn  near  to  them,  "  I, 
too,  should  like  to  die  at  Deynum." 

The  Marquis  winced.  "  You,  Mademoiselle,"  he  said 
lightly,  holding  out  his  hand  to  her.  "  A  pretty  child  like 
you  ought  not  to  talk  of  death." 

She  did  not  take  the  hand.  "  Death ! "  she  replied 
gravely.  "  That  is  purgatory ;  it  is  horrid.  I  meant '  dy- 
ing.' I  should  like  to  die  at  Deynum  and  go  and  sleep 
with  the  others  in  the  chapel.  Afterwards — it  is  horrid, 
but  one  does  not  know  !  " 

"  But  you  are  a  little  philosopher,"  said  the  Marquis 
with  a  ghastly  grin. 

"  The  child  does  not  understand  what  she  is  talking 
about,"  interposed  Mevrouw  van  Eexelaer  rising.  "  Permit 
me  to  take  your  arm,  Monsieur." 

At  table  the  little  life  left  in  the  sick  man  seemed  to 
flare  up  under  congenial  surroundings.  He  ate  sparingly, 
but  he  drank  a  glass  or  two  of  his  host's  wine  and  warmly 
commended  it.  And  he  told  a  couple  of  amusing  stories, 
cautiously,  as  if  afraid  of  compromising  himself.  Father 
Bulbius  sat  admiring  him  open-mouthed. 

Stimulated  by  the  Marquis's  example  and  especially  flat- 


"WHY  NOT,  M.  LE  MARQUIS?"  113 

tered  by  the  praise  his  ceDar  was  receiving  from  so  mani- 
fest a  connoisseur,  the  master  of  the  house  also  somewhat 
shook  off  the  lethargy  of  his  own  sorrows,  and  even  so  far 
conquered  himself  as  to  tell  the  story  of  the  King's  Wine. 
How  in  the  glorious  year  '15,  the  great  year  of  deliverance, 
he,  being  then  about  twelve  years  old,  had  lived  with  his 
mother  for  a  time  at  a  small  country  house  in  Brabant  near 
the  frontier,  while  his  father  was  with  the  army  in  Belgium. 
And  how  on  one  beautiful  calm  June  evening  news  had 
flown  up  from  the  village  that  a  courier  was  come  with  the 
tidings  of  a  great  victory  to  bear  to  the  King.  His  horse 
had  broken  down ;  he  was  clamouring  for  another — would 
the  Baroness  give  her  best?  And  how  he — little  Eeinout, 
as  he  was  then — had  run  away  to  the  stables  and  saddled 
his  father's  "  Bruno,"  with  only  a  cry  to  the  groom  that  he 
would  be  back  again  to-morrow,  and  had  ridden  out  upon 
the  high-road  he  scarcely  knew  how  or  why.  And  then 
how  he  had  rushed  onward  all  through  the  soft  summer- 
night,  with  but  one  thought  in  his  heart  of  the  great  victory 
and  the  joy  of  the  King!  and  had  crossed  the  mighty 
waters  of  the  Moerdyk  and  the  Maas,  while  some  took  his 
gold  sleeve-links  and  buttons  in  payment  and  others  heli3ed 
him  on  with  God  speed !  for  the  glad  news  that  he  bore. 
How  a  post-keeper  had  lent  him  a  horse  when  Bruno  could 
bear  even  his  light  weight  no  further,  and  how,  at  last,  in 
the  glory  of  the  proud  June  morning,  he  had  drawn  rein, 
fainting  but  triumphant,  at  the  Palace  gates.  How  he  had 
cried  for  his  grandfather  who  was  one  of  the  Court  cham- 
berlains, and  how,  between  tears  and  laughter,  he  had  finally 
poured  out  his  story  at  the  Sovereign's  feet,  half  an  hour 
before  the  State  courier  came  in  with  the  Despatches.  How 
the  King,  when  the  truth  was  confirmed,  had  patted  his 
liead,  saying :  "  What  must  I  do  for  you,  my  fine  little  fel- 
low ?  "  and  how  he  had  answered  with  his  eyes  on  the  table : 
"A  glass  of  wine,  please,  your  Majesty  and  Grandpapa,  though 
it  isn't  my  birthday — "  and  how  the  room  had  swum  round, 


114  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

as  all  the  courtiers  laughed.  How  the  Kiug  had  declared 
that  he  should  never  want  that  to  drink  the  royal  health  in, 
and  had  sent  his  father  a  hogshead  to  lay  aside  for  him, 
with  the  intimation  that,  when  next  he  did  his  country 
good  service,  he  must  ask  for  some  more.  "  I  reminded 
him  of  his  promise  on  a  later  occasion,"  said  the  Baron  in 
conclusion,  "  and  I  got  another,  and  larger,  present  of  the 
same.  It  is  good  wine,  as  you  say.  I  used  to  keep  it,  but 
now  I  drink  it.  In  a  few  years  there  will  be  nobody  left  to 
do  so." 

"  There's  me.  Papa,"  said  the  child. 

"  Women  don't  drink  wine,"  replied  her  father,  "  They 
sip  it,  without  tasting." 

The  Baroness  had  heard  the  story  several  hundred  times 
before,  but  she  had  never  heard  it  told  to  a  Frenchman. 
She  was  the  more  surprised  that  her  husband  avoided 
specifying  the  "  other  occasion,"  which  was  merely  the 
siege  of  Antwerp  in  the  Belgian  war. 

"  He  is  too  modest  to  allude  to  his  own  military  ex- 
ploits," she  thought. 

"  The  King  is  dead,"  said  the  Baron,  saluting  as  he 
emptied  his  glass,  "  Long  live  the  King ! " 

Gustave,  b}'  the  side-board,  saluted  too. 

"  I  have  not  yet  had  an  opportunity  of  telling  you," 
said  the  Baron,  when  the  two  gentlemen  were  alone 
together,  waiting  for  the  carriage,  "  how  much  I  regretted 
the  failure  of  my  attempt  to  find  you  a  suitable  lodging.  I 
fear  now  that  you  will  very  soon  be  leaving  us." 
He  felt  how  complimentary  was  the  "  us." 
"  You  are  too  kind,  my  dear  Baron,"  murmured  the 
visitor,  without  regarding  his  own  words.  The  old  man  sat 
staring  vaguely  before  him ;  he  was  dead-tired,  miserably 
oppressed  by  the  weight  which  no  companionship  could 
cast  off.  He  spoke  a  few  sentences  about  the  weather  and 
the  crops,  and  the  other  answered  him. 


"WHY   NOT,  M.  LE   MARQUIS!"  115 

"  I  am  ill,"  said  the  Marquis  suddenly.  "  I  am  dying. 
I  can't  travel  any  more.  I  won't  travel.  I  can't  stay  iu 
that  filthy  inn.  Monsieur  de  Rexelaer,  can  you  really  not 
find  me  some  place  I  could  buy  to  die  quietly  in  ? "  A 
hungry,  hunted  look  came  over  his  face  ;  he  was  yearning 
to  speak  of  his  trouble  to  someone  besides  Antoine. 

The  Baron  got  up  and  walked  across  the  room,  away 
from  his  guest.  "  I  know  of  one  house,"  he  said,  "  if  you 
were  willing  to  pay  for  it." 

"  I  will  pay  anything,"  cried  the  other  passionately,  "  I 
want  rest.  This  stupid  anxiety  is  killing  me  before  my 
time.     What  is  the  house  that  you  speak  of  ?  " 

"  It  is  this,"  said  the  Baron  with  his  back  turned.  He 
clutched  at  a  chair  and  sat  down. 

There  was  an  awkward  pause.  Then  the  Marquis  said 
stiffly,  "  You  misapprehend  me.  Monsieur.  I  was  very 
much  in  earnest.  I  am  perfectly  well  aware  that  you  can- 
not place  this  house  at  my  disposal." 

"  Why  not,  Monsieur  le  JMarquis?"  said  the  other  from 
his  dark  corner. 

"  What !    You  know  me  !    That  scoundrel  has  blabbed  ! " 

"  Forgive  me.  The  fault  is  not  your  valet's.  From  the 
first  moment  I  heard  your  name,  I  was  aware  that  I  had  the 
honour  of  speaking  to  the  Marquis  de  la  JoUiis." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  the  Marquis. 

"  There  are  not  so  many  of  us  that  we  do  not  know 
about  each  other,  at  least  in  Holland  and  Belgium.  For- 
give my  indiscretion,  which  I  deeply  regret.  I  was  speak- 
ing under  the  influence  of  excitement.  But  I  warn  you,  I 
fear  that  your  name  is  known  to  others  than  myself." 

The  Marquis  bowed,  exaggeratedly  vexed.  He  had 
clung  to  his  sick  man's  whim.  "  But  this — this — how  shall 
I  say  ? — about  your  castle  ?  "  he  asked.    "  It  is  a  pleasantry  ?  " 

"  Monsieur,  is  it  a  subject  I  should  joke  upon,  even  did 
I  desire  to  insult  you  ?  If  you  wish  to  buy  the  place — the 
whole  thing — you  can  do  so.  The  air  does  not  agree  with 
9 


110  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

my  wife.     Yon  see  liow  pale  she  looks.     I  am  anxious  to 
settle  abroad." 

"  But  I  want  a  house,  not  an  estate,"  said  the  Marquis. 
He  rose  as  Antoine  came  forward  with  his  wraps,  and,  mo- 
tioning him  back,  tottered  across  to  the  dark  spot  in  which 
the  other  was  sitting.  "  I  thank  you,  sir,"  he  said,  "  for 
the  signal  honour  you  have  done  me.  Believe  me,  I  know 
how  to  appreciate  it."  They  shook  hands  in  silence,  and 
then  the  Marquis  was  driven  back  to  the  inn. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

"  j'OSAIS." 

"  ExcoRE  un  de  flambe,"  said  the  Marquis  to  himself. 
His  class-feeling  was  honestly  sorry  for  the  Baron ;  none 
the  less  he  could  not  entirely  suppress  a  faint  glow  of  satis- 
faction that  another  of  the  world's  mighty  ones  should  have 
come  to  grief,  like  himself.  "  Sold  up  ! "  he  said,  and 
smiled  bitterly. 

He  could  easily  put  two  and  two  together  and  conclude 
that  the  Baron  had  speculated  and  lost.  "  If  he  has  played 
away  such  a  family  estate,  what  a  fool  he  must  be  !  "  thought 
Monsieur  de  la  Jolais.  In  so  far  he  partly  wronged  Baron 
Rexelaer,  for  that  gentleman,  unable  to  pay  off  the  mort- 
gages his  ancestors  had  accumulated,  had  only  taken  to 
speculation  as  an  ultimate  possibility  of  escape.  By  his 
operations  he  had  lost  more  than  twice  the  original  deficit. 
The  news  of  the  final  crash  had  reached  him  through  the 
last  post.  His  brokers,  refusing  to  hold  out  any  longer, 
had  sold. 

There  was  no  ecarte  that  evening.  Only  the  Baroness's 
Patience,  with  Father  Bulbius  watching  it. 

"  Here,  you,  Antoine,  listen,"  said  the  Marquis  imperi- 
ously. He  had  had  his  evening  injection  of  morphia,  and 
the  valet  was  about  to  withdraw.  "  I  have  something  to 
say  to  you.     My  identity  is  out." 

The  valet's  conscience  smote  him;  on  that  account  he 
smiled  superciliously.     "  But  what  could  Monsieur  le  Mai-- 


118  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

quis  expect  ?  "  he  said.     "  And  with  an  alias  which  is  Mon- 
sieur le  Marquis's  own  name  ?  " 

"  Peace,"  interrupted  his  master.   "  You  told.   Whom  ?  " 

Antoine  protested  wath  vehemence.  The  Marquis  lis- 
tened carelessly,  half -hidden  by  the  faded  green  bed-curtains. 
Presently  he  said :  "  Let  us  understand  each  other.  This 
person,  will  he  tell  others  ?  " 

"  But  nobody  knows  !  "  cried  Antoine. 

"  I  suppose  that  means  he  will  not.  You  wall  go  to  him 
to-night — to-night,  do  you  hear !  — and  offer  him  money  to 
hold  his  tongue.  If  it  is  the  i^riest,  as  I  presume,  so  much 
the  better.  He  will  keep  his  promise  as  well  as  the  money. 
Or,  still  cheaper,  you  might  pass  your  words  through  the 
confessional  ?  " 

Loripont's  countenance  expressed  his  disapproval  of 
such  levity.  He  thought  his  master  little  better  than  a 
heathen. 

"  Your  religion  comes  useful  occasionally,"  the  Mar- 
quis went  on.  "  Where's  that  little  Virgin  of  yours  ? 
Find  it." 

Loripont  obeyed  with  a  scowl.  He  drew  from  under  his 
shirt  a  tiny  silver  image,  fastened  to  a  string,  and  kissed  it 
reverently,  and  then  stood  dangling  it,  irreverently.  Once 
before,  upon  their  first  coming  together,  his  master  had 
make  him  swear  by  it,  swear  never  to  steal  or  cheat.  He 
had  religiously  kept  his  oath.  The  little  image  was  his 
guardian-angel  and  every-day  god.  It  was  no  good  for  the 
other  world,  but  it  looked  after  him  in  this.  Fortunately 
the  Marquis  had  not  exacted  a  promise  of  absolute  ve- 
racity. The  wisdom  of  government  lies  in  the  regulation 
of  liberty. 

"  I  will  give  you,"  said  Monsieur  de  la  Jolais,  toying 
with  the  trifles  on  his  bed-table,  "  one  thousand  francs  for 
every  week  I  have  to  live.  That  is  my  offer.  My  demand 
is  this : 

"  First.     You  will  send  for  your  wife,  and  you  and  she 


"J'OSAIS."  119 

will  tend  me  with  unmurmuring  devotion.  Secondly.  You 
will  both  j)reserve  absolute  silence  about  me  and  my  doings, 
now  and  ever  afterwards.  There  is  no  mystery.  I  do  not 
intend  to  do  anything  extraordinary,  but  I  will  not  have  my 
sufferings  known  to  the  world.  As  soon  as  I  am  dead,  you 
will  convey  my  body  back  to  Saint-Leu,  and  you  will  give 
out  that  I  died  of  some  chest-complaint — Pneumonia.  That 
is  all.  Swear.  I  can  trust  your  to  frighten  your  wife  into 
her  part.     Swear  for  both." 

"  I  will  swear.  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  on  one  condition — " 

"  You  have  heard  the  condition,"  said  the  Marquis, 
sitting  up  in  bed.    "  The  money  shall  be  paid  you.    Swear." 

He  cowed  the  man  with  his  keen  eyes.  Antoine  mum- 
bled "  I  swear,"  as  he  lifted  the  little  image  to  his  lips. 

But  immediately  afterwards  his  manner  changed.  He 
leant  back  against  the  roughly-painted  door,  slipped  the 
little  doll  out  of  sight  behind  his  collar,  and  folded  his 
arms. 

"  Take  a  chair  !  "  said  the  Marquis,  with  courteous  scorn. 
But  the  valet  did  not  modify  his  pose.  "  I  also  have  my 
conditions,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,"  he  said.  "  Will  Mon- 
sieur le  Marquis  have  the  goodness  to  listen  to  them  for  a 
moment  ?  " 

Monsieur  de  la  Jolais  sank  back  and  plaintively  won- 
dered where  was  the  strength  of  those  good  old  days  when 
he  would  have  cursed  the  fellow  out  of  the  room.  His  head 
was  growing  dizzy.  He  merely  said  :  "  You  should  not  first 
have  taken  your  oath." 

"  I  permit  myself  to  differ  from  Monsieur  le  IMarquis," 
retorted  the  valet.  "  I  remembered  that  I  was  dealing  with 
a  gentilhomme." 

The  Marquis  felt  the  force  of  the  rebuke.  "  What  is 
it  you  want?"  he  said.  "Be  brief.  I  stand  in  great  need 
of  rest." 

"  Monsieur  le  ^Vlarquis  de  la  Jolais-Farjolle,"  began  An- 
toine, striving  in  vain  to  keep  his  voice  quite  steady,  "  when 


120  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

I  entered  your  service  eight  years  ago,  you  bound  me  down 
never  to  ap2)ropriate  any  of  tliose  little  advantages  which  a 
gentleman's  service  naturally  brings  with  it.  You  paid  me 
the  usual  wages.  I  therefore  earned  less  than  half  of  what 
is  usual.  I  have  kept  faithfully  to  my  promise ;  I  have 
never  appropriated  a  halfpenny.  I  believe  that,  on  the 
whole,  I  have  not  given  serious  cause  for  dissatisfaction  ?  " 

"  So  be  it,"  said  the  Marquis.  "  You  could  have  left,  if 
you  wished." 

"  Not  only  did  I  not  earn  my  due,"  continued  the  valet, 
"  but  I  was  obliged  to  spend  part  of  my  wages,  on  your  be- 
half, to  keep  up  the  honour  of  our  name.  Permit  me  to 
say  it,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  but  a  man  in  my  position  who 
respects  himself  and  his  connections  cannot  expose  himself 
to  the  charge  of  continuous  underpayment  of  inferiors. 
Wherever,  during  all  these  years,  you  have  instructed  me — 
at  home  or  abroad — to  give  a  cabman  or  a  porter  a  franc,  I 
have  been  compelled  by  circumstances.  Monsieur  le  Marquis, 
— excuse  my  mentioning  it — to  make  the  sum  one  franc 
fifty,  and  sometimes  two." 

"  The  more  fool  you,"  said  the  Marquis. 

"  So  I  have  always  thought.  Monsieur  le  Marquis.  But 
one  attaches  oneself,  against  one's  will,  to  the  great  name 
one  is  connected  with.  Permit  me  to  add.  Monsieur  le 
Marquis,  that  I  have  carefully  kept  account  of  all  the  sums 
I  was  thus  compelled  to  advance  in  a  little  note-book,  which 
I  have  here."     He  touched  his  breast. 

"  Anything  more  ?  "  asked  the  Marquis. 

"  There  is  just  one  point  which  I  am  afraid  I  must  still 
mention," — he  hesitated — "  Taking  into  account  the  great 
risk  of  these  advances,  I  have  considered  myself  entitled  to 
reckon  ten  per  cent,  interest  on  each  payment  from  the  day 
on  which  it  was  made.  I  can  assure  Monsieur  le  Marquis 
on  the  solemn  oath  by  which  I  bound  myself  that  the  ac- 
counts I  have  handed  in  have  always  been  rigidly  accurate, 
and  tliat  in  the  extra  charges  I  now  bring  forward  I  have 


"J'OSAIS."  121 

never  exceeded  the  limits  of  what  I  considered  the  unavoid- 
able." 

"J"o?<  considered,"  said  the  Marquis. 

"  Monsieur  will  allow  me  to  point  out  that  Monsieur  le 
Marquis  de  la  Jolais-Farjolle  has  the  reputation  of  being 
the  most  extravagant  nobleman  in  Brussels.  He  has  not 
the  reputation  of  being  the  most  generous.  He  would 
probably  be  known  as  the  stingiest,  were  it  not  for  his  hum- 
ble servant,  Antoine  Loripont." 

He  stared  Ms  master  straight  in  the  face,  but  not  im- 
pertinently. Then  he  produced  his  little  account-book  and 
held  it  out.  "  The  sum  total,"  he  said,  "  is  three  thousand, 
seven  hundred  and  forty-three  francs,  nineteen  centimes. 
The  centimes  sound  unreal ;  they  are  the  outcome  of  the 
interest-reckoning.  I  vouch  for  strictly  honest  accuracy, 
by  the  Mother  of  God — "  and  he  pulled  out  his  little  image 
again,  and  kissed  it. 

"  Go  to  the  devil,"  said  the  Marquis. 

"  As  Monsieur  the  Marquis  pleases.  But  I  mentioned 
this  subject  because  I  wished  to  forewarn  Monsieur  le 
Marquis  that  I  shall  consider  myself  entitled  to  refund  my- 
self this  money — which  I  have  always  looked  upon  as  a 
loan — from  whatever  moneys  or  articles  of  value  I  may 
happen  to  have  in  my  keeping  at  the  time  of  Monsieur  the 
Marquis's  possible  demise— I  have  understood  that  much 
from  the  beginning." 

"  You  shall  make  an  inventory  for  me,"  said  the  Marquis. 
"  I  shall  send  it  to  the  Notary's." 

Their  eyes  met.  "  I  was  mistaken,"  said  the  valet 
coolly.     "  I  should  have  delayed  my  oath  after  all." 

The  Marquis  turned  his  face  to  the  wall.  "  Take  the 
money,"  he  said.  "  Take  it  now.  But,  for  Heaven's  sake, 
let  me  sleep  !  " 

The  repose  which  he  longed  for  did  not,  however,  visit 
him  as  soon  as  he  had  expected.     He,  who  had  always  been 


102  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

au  excellent  sleeper — it  was  natural  to  his  tranquil  good 
health — had  3'et  to  learn  that  there  is  an  exhaustion  which 
does  not  precede,  but  precludes,  recuperative  rest.  Sleep, 
like  the  jilt  she  is,  does  not  come  when  courted.  She 
attracts,  and  casts  her  glamour  all  around  her,  and  then 
laughs  and  runs  away. 

And  she  leaves  behind  her  all  the  torment  of  that  living 
night-watch  which  is  so  unlike  the  life  of  day. 

All  the  hideous  moonlight  of  a  soul  distorted,  in  which 
depths  of  unknown  stillness  wake  and  move  beneath  the 
shifting  shadows,  to  a  rush  of  restlessness  that  dies  away 
and  yet  is  never  altogether  gone,  while  the  thousand  shape- 
less spectres  that  rise  and  breathe  and  have  no  being  come 
roaming  to  and  fro  in  the  chilly  greyness — into  unending 
distance,  with  a  weary  drawing  of  the  brain,  and  then  back 
again  upon  the  burning  eye-balls,  with  a  blow  as  of  a  ham- 
mer, and  once  more  down  avenues  of  vagueness,  never  fully 
visible — far — far — never  out  of  sight. 

The  Marquis  sat  up  in  bed.  "  Eest,"  he  said  aloud. 
And  then  he  fell  back  again,  and  tossed  from  side  to  side. 

And  as  he  did  so,  there  woke  within  him  an  indefinite 
consciousness  of  something — something  wrong — at  that 
point  where  the  dead  weight  lay  under  his  breast.  For  the 
moment  only  there  was  the  vague  expectancy — half  curious, 
half .  anxious — and  then  steadily,  like  the  pressure  of  a 
borer,  slowly  piercing  farther,  there  came  deepening  on  his 
soul  a  persistency  of  pain.  Then,  the  expectancy  that  it 
would  pass  over,  that  it  was  relenting,  lessening — a  sharp 
twinge,  almost  welcome,  in  the  momentary  diversion — a 
sudden  hope  ! — and  then  again,  slowly,  steadily,  the  j^ierc- 
ing,  pressing  pain. 

He  revolted  against  it  in  the  fury  of  his  impotence,  tired 
no  longer,  no  longer  conscious  of  fatigue.  He  struck  his 
hands  wildly  into  the  darkness,  and  threw  back  the  bed- 
clothes, and  pulled  them  up  again.  He  lighted  a  candle, 
and  stared  at  his  haggard  face  in  the  glass,  and  fiercely 


"J'OSAIS."  123 

dashed  out  the  light.  And  at  last,  when  he  had  pressed 
his  fists  against  his  pursed-np  lips  and  told  himself  again 
and  again:  "I  will  not,"  he  broke  into  a  shriek  of  agony 
and  thrust  his  head  down  into  the  pillows  and  tried  to  be- 
lieve he  had  not  heard  his  own  voice. 

It  had  rung  out,  nevertheless.  Presently  there  came  a 
knocking  at  the  door.  The  landlady,  aroused  by  the  cry, 
had  risen  hastily  to  inquire  if  she  could  be  of  use.  Should 
she  call  Mynheer's  servant  who  slept  on  the  other  side  of 
the  house?  Mynheer  was  taken  bad  again;  did  he  want 
the  doctor  sent  for?  Her  man  could  easily  go  if  it  was  de- 
sired !  With  the  simple  logic  of  her  sort,  the  landlady 
was  all  the  more  voluble  because  the  Marquis  did  not  un- 
derstand her.  But  even  in  his  necessity  the  latter  resented 
the  sympathetic  tone  of  her  voice,  as  it  came  pouring 
through  the  keyhole.  He  refused  to  be  pitied  by  these 
creatures.  He  called  for  his  servant,  and  cursed  him  when 
he  came,  and,  at  length,  by  the  help  of  fresh  morphia,  was 
lulled  into  some  kind  of  repose. 

And  thus  we  can  comprehend  one  of  the  reasons  why 
Monsieur  de  la  Jolais,  when  shipwrecked  at  Deynum,  had 
elected  to  remain  there.  Be  it  known,  then,  that  Autoine, 
when  he  described  his  master  as  the  most  extravagant  noble 
in  Brussels,  had  but  given  one  half  of  the  characterisation 
as  it  was  repeated  in  the  salons  and  clubs  of  that  city.  It 
was  true  that  the  Marquis,  wherever  his  own  pleasures  and 
comforts  were  concerned,  indulged  in  that  careless  extrava- 
gance which  is  so  often  found  in  stingy  men  of  wealth.  He 
was  notorious  for  having  ordered  an  extra  train  to  Paris 
upon  missing  the  regular  one,  and  then  having  quarrelled 
over  his  fare  with  the  cabman  who  drove  him  from  the  sta- 
tion. It  was  he  who  had — ah,  but  that  is  a  nasty  story. 
The  man  is  dead.     Better  let  it  alone. 

He  had  another  reputation,  however,  of  which  he  was  far 
vainer,  the  only  thing,  perhaps,  of  which  he  was  really  vain 


124  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

— the  reputation  of  having  been,  all  his  life,  the  bravest  of 
a  reckless  set.  From  his  youth  upwards  he  had  enjoyed  the 
excitement  of  foolhardy  feats,  risking  his  life  a  hundred 
times,  uselessly,  for  the  laughter  and  the  triumph  of  the 
thing.  He  had  rejoiced  to  think  that  none  of  his  comrades 
cared  to  take  a  particular  ditch  and  hedge  on  his  own 
estate ;  he  liked  to  show  them  how  to  do  it,  as  he  said.  It 
was  he  who  had  driven  a  horse  in  a  chaise  from  the  high 
box  of  a  i^haeton  and  pair  behind  it,  holding  the  reins  of  all 
three,  up  the  Montague  de  la  Cour,  and  round  by  the  Royal 
Park.  It  was  he  also  who  had  lain  down  between  the  rails 
— for  a  wager — and  let  a  train  pass  over  him,  but  that  was 
very  long  ago.  Moreover,  he  had  fought  at  least  a  dozen 
duels  in  his  day,  and,  on  one  occasion,  w^hen  his  adversary's 
bullet  carried  oS  the  jjoint  of  one  of  his  moustaches,  he  had 
turned  coolly  to  that  gentleman  with  the  punning  words  : 
"  Vous  me  rasez,  Monsieur."  He  had  been  a  hero  among 
his  companions  for  the  devil-may-care  contempt  of  death 
which  had  never  found  a  worthy  occasion  of  displaying 
itself,  and  it  was  to  this  well-known  trait  that  he  owed  his 
nickname  of  "  J'ose,"  an  abbreviation  for  Josephe.  He  had 
been  intensely  gratified  by  this  public  recognition  of  his 
valour.  It  was  the  one  "  greatness  "  which  he  had  achieved 
for  himself.  Wealth,  influence,  position,  he  had  been  born 
to  these  ;  he  was  calmly  proud  of  them,  but  when  he  forced 
his  frightened  horse  along  the  parapet  of  the  terrace  of  his 
family-seat  of  Saint-Leu,  he  felt  that  he  was  achieving  a 
distinction  which  no  ancestors  could  have  power  to  bestow. 
He  w^as  vain  of  it  therefore,  in  bright  contrast  to  that  en- 
tirely different  feeling  of  hereditary  pride  which,  in  reality, 
is  but  a  cumbrous  thing  to  bear,  at  its  best. 

And  this  man  who  had  so  often  tempted  death  as  a  pos- 
sibility now  recoiled  from  it  in  horror  when  it  came  to  him, 
a  certainty,  under  the  form  of  disease.  Somehow  or  other, 
it  was  all  quite  different.  The  light  fell  otherwise.  Before, 
there  had  always  been  the  energy  of  escape,  straining  every 


"J'OSAIS."  125 

nerve  into  momentarily  increasing  sureness  of  victory ;  now 
there  was  nothing  except  the  consciousness  of  powerless 
failure.  It  was  Jio  longer  the  old  leap  over  a  fence,  but  a 
slow,  remorseless  fall  against  a  wall  of  adamant. 

And,  above  all,  there  had  not  been  this  terrible  actuality 
of  pain — death  through  suffering ;  it  was  a  new  thought. 
Dangerless,  inactive,  stupid  suffering,  it  was  upon  him  al- 
ready. He  recoiled  from  it.  Worse  than  that,  he  trembled 
at  it.  And  in  his  own  horror  of  the  tremble,  the  dread,  the 
cowardice,  he  fled  he  knew  not  whither,  if  only  from  those 
wdio  would  mark,  and  jest  at,  his  fall.  J'ose.  He  would 
die  as  he  had  lived.  But  he  did  not  "  dare."  Some  wag 
would  alter  his  sobriquet  into  "  Jose."  None  must  know  of 
this  illness.  He  tried  to  get  away  into  Germany ;  any  little 
watering-place  would  do.  And  then,  when  he  lay  stranded 
at  Deynum,  it  seemed  to  him  that  Deyuum  might  be  the 
very  place  he  stood  in  need  of.  He  could  not  venture  to 
travel  again,  least  of  all  in  his  own  country.  The  shriek  of 
this  night  decided  him.  None  but  Loripont  or  his  wife 
must  ever  hear  him  shriek  again.  He  could  have  killed  the 
poor  landlady  for  her  looks  of  compassion,  and  the  all-com- 
prehensive waggle  of  her  good-natured  head. 

"  You  will  go,"  said  the  Marquis  to  Antoine  in  the 
early  morning,  "and  fetch  me  the  Baron  van  Rex- 
elaer.  My  compliments,  you  understand,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing." 

Antoine  departed,  and  on  his  way  he  met  Father  Bul- 
bius.  The  good  Father  was  pottering  about  in  the  village, 
Ins  village — more  his  than  anybody  else's,  for,  whoever 
owned  the  bodies,  the  souls  were  the  priest's.  He  was  en- 
joying the  breezy  freshness  of  that  early  hour,  and  he 
stopped  before  a  little  flaxen-haired  mud-pie  makester,  and 
patted  her  on  the  head  and  said  she  was  good.  But  he  felt 
that  he  could  not  honestly  have  treated  himself  in  the  same 
manner.  He  was  selfish.  For  when  strangers  ask  us  for 
our   houses   and    chattels,  we,  if    we   be   good    Christians, 


126  THE  GREATER   GLORY. 

should  grant  tlicir  request.  Especially  when  the  rent  they 
offer  is  high. 

Between  fear  of  his  conscience  and  dread  of  his  house- 
keeper the  Father  had  a  bad  time  of  it.  He  espied  Antoine 
and  went  towards  him,  hoj^ing  by  his  aid  to  reconcile  them 
both. 

"  Good  morning,  Monsieur  Antoine,"  he  said,  nodding 
his  benevolent  countenance  to  and  fro.  "  And  how  is  the 
patient  this  fine  morning?  Better,  I  hope,  and  able  to  con- 
tinue his  journey?" 

"  No,  your  Eeverence,  he  is  not  better,"  replied  Antoine. 
"  Seems  to  me  he  is  near  his  journey's  end." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  cried  the  priest  nonplussed.  "  I  hope  he 
is  prepared  to  dejiart ! "  To  himself  he  said  :  "  Anyhow, 
you  see,  it  would  not  be  worth  while." 

"  By  no  means,"  replied  Antoine  decidedly.  "  I  en- 
deavour to  do  my  duty,  but  it  is  very  trying  for  a  servant, 
your  Reverence." 

"  Fortunately  you  have  all  the  conveniences  of  an  inn. 
It  is  very  convenient,  is  an  inn.  Monsieur  Antoine.  Much 
more  so  than  a  house  of  one's  own.  If  you  want  a  thing, 
you  simply  ring  for  it." 

"x\nd  simply  do  not  get  it,"  said  Antoine. 

"  You  are  not — comfortable  ?     I  hope  you  are." 

"  Oh  no —  "  began  Loripont.  Then  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  Father's  imploring  face.  "  Xot  uncomfortable,"  he 
added,  and  smiled  to  think  how  good  he  was  to  the  priests. 

"  Well,  well,  we  all  have  our  trials,"  sighed  the  Father. 
"  Some  of  us  have  not  what  we  want,  others  have  what  they 
would  gladly  be  without.     Au  revoir.  Monsieur  Antoine." 

"  Serviteur,  Monsieur  le  Cure." 

But  Antoine  j^aused,  and  then  retraced  his  steps. 

"  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  he  cried,  "  a  thousand  pardons. 
There  is  just  one  question  I  would  ask  you  if  I  dared." 

Father  Bulbius,  Avho  had  been  meditatively  contemplat- 
ing a  still  far  more  meditative  pig — astray  from  the  right 


"J'OSAIS."  127 

path,  like  himself — started  iu  anxious  expectation.  Should 
he  venture — a  second  time — to  refuse  ?  And  what  would 
Veronica  say,  if  he  came  back  to  her  houseless  after  all  ? 

"  Monsieur  le  Cure,"  said  Antoine,  hesitatingly,  "  a  little 
mass — eh  ? — just  a  little  one  for  my — master ;  it  might  do 
much  good,  perhaj^s,  but  it  couldn't — eh,  do  you  think  so? 
— do  much  harm  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  the  priest  with  an  approbatory 
smile.  "  The  idea  is  an  extremely  praiseworthy  one.  But 
Monsieur  le  Marquis  is  not  yet  deceased.  And  besides, 
would  he  spend  money  on  masses  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  possible,  I  presume,"  said  Antoine,  still  feeling 
his  way,  "  to  smooth  over  some  of  the  unpleasantnesses  be- 
forehand ?  Purgatory  is  a  very  awful  thought,  Monsieur  le 
Cure." 

"  It  is  indeed,"  assented  the  priest,  with  true  solemnity. 

"  There  is  a  little  sum  I  have  set  aside,"  hazarded  An- 
toine. "  It  is  not  as  large  perhaps  as  might  be  considered 
desirable.  But  the  Marquis  has  not  been  a  good  master  to 
me,  and  I  feel  justified  in  leaving  it — insufficient.  He  shall 
have  five  per  cent,  of  the  sum  he  refunded  last  night," 
reasoned  Antoine.  "  And  I  hope,"  he  added  aloud,  "  that 
my  action  in  this  matter  will  be  accounted  to  my  credit 
when  my  own  time  comes." 

"  Our  most  meritorious  acts,"  said  the  priest  senten- 
tiously,  "are  not  those.  Monsieur  Antoine,  which  impress 
us  most  vividly  with  the  certitude  of  their  meritoriousness." 

Loripont  winced  under  the  rebuke.  "  Well,  your  Eev- 
erence,"  he  said,  "  I  am  a  poor  man,  but  I  can't  bear  the 
idea  of  even  my  master  drifting  away  into — that !  If  you 
can  do  anything  later  on  to  make  matters  more  comfort- 
able, I  should  not  wish  it  to  be  omitted." 

"  So  be  it,"  replied  the  Father.  "  May  I  ask  :  have  you 
fixed  on  any  sum  ?  " 

"  Let  us  begin  with  a  hundred  francs,"  said  Loripont 
loftily,  suddenly  rising  from  his  reverential  air  into  one  of 


jog  THE  GRPLVTER  GLORY. 

patronisiug  importance.  "  One  hundred  francs,  Monsieur 
le  Cure."  And  lie  took  liis  leave  and  went  on  his  way  to 
the  Baron.  "  Religion  is  a  very  expensive  item,"  he  mut- 
tered to  himself,  "  and  supposing — supposing — it  were  none 
of  it  true  in  the  end ! " 

You  who  laugh  in  your  souls  at  reading  of  this  man's 
thinkings,  has  the  littleness  of  your  life  so  dried  up  the 
tears  within  you  that  you  have  none  left  to  weep  over  its 
majesty  struck  down  in  the  dust  ?  0  God,  all-loving,  all- 
wise,  all-terrible,  this  then  is  Thy  service  in  the  latter-day 
of  Thy  mercy,  and  we.  Thy  faithless,  self -deceiving  children, 
holding  np  our  rags  to  shield  us  from  Thy  radiance,  we 
call  upon  these,  in  their  filthiness,  and  hail  them  as  God ! 
From  the  religions  of  our  inheriting,  our  imbibing,  our 
creating — from  all  religions  but  of  Thine  implanting — de- 
liver us,  0  Lord ! 


CHAPTER   XYIL 

NOT   AS    WE    WILL,    BUT    AS   WE   AVOULD,    O    LORD. 

A  COUPLE  of  hours  later  Mynheer  yau  Eexelaer  was 
ushered  into  the  Marquis's  presence.  The  ceremony  of  oil- 
ing, trimming  and  curling  had  been  completed,  and,  in  so 
far  as  the  word  is  suggestive  of  worship,  that  ceremony 
might  have  been  looked  upon  as  a  morning-orison  to  the 
Devil,  who  had  been  plentifully  invoked  with  imprecations 
and  prayers.  The  valet  had  smiled  regretfully  once  or 
twice,  as  one  who  sees  a  child  rushing  heedlessly  into  pun- 
ishment. After  a  double-weighted  oath  at  liis  clumsiness 
in  dropping  the  curling-iron — even  valets  will  get  nervous 
at  times — he  had  ventured  on  a  "  Pourtant,  Monsieur  le 
Marquis — "  to  be  immediately  interrupted  with  :  "  Just  so. 
Pour  tant.  .For  so  much  a  month  do  you  do  me  such 
service ! " 

The  Baron  found  the  invalid  sitting  discontentedly 
among  the  strange  medley  of  his  surroundings,  a  magnifi- 
cent cloak  of  blue  fox  trailing  on  the  sanded  floor,  a  number 
of  costly  objects  scattered  about  over  the  furniture,  a  soft 
luxury  of  toilet  perfumes  overpowering  the  paraffin. 

"Do  me  the  favour  to  take  a  seat,"  said  the  Marquis. 

The  Baron  sat  down. 
.  "I  am  about  to  be  impolite,"  continued  the  invalid.  "  I 
am  an  old  man  and  the  circumstances  of  the  case  must 
serve  as  my  excuse.  May  I  venture  to  ask.  Monsieur  de 
Rexelaer — forgive  mc — whetlier  yon  still  retain  unaltered 
your  intention  of  travelling  abroad  V  " 


130  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

Tlie  Baron  strove  hard  to  steady  his  eyebrows. 

"  But  yes,"  he  said  abruptly. 

"  And  am  I  then  to  understand  that  you  still  do  me  the 
honour  of  proposing  the  possibility  of  my  becoming  tlie 
purchaser  of  your  house  in  this  place,  which  you  no  longer 
require  ?  " 

The  Baron  van  Eexelaer  got  up  and  began  to  pace  to 
and  fro.  He  saw  a  look  of  fatigue  and  annoyance  go  flitting 
across  the  sick  man's  face.  He  remembered  that  he  had 
been  asked  to  sit,  and  so  sat  down  again. 

"  Yes,"  he  said. 

"  Then  will  you  permit  me  to  say  that  I  have  recon- 
sidered your  offer,  which  took  me  by  surprise  yesterday  at 
an  unfortunate  moment.  As  I  mentioned  to  you  before,  I 
want  a  quiet  place  to  die  in.  That  is  all.  You  do  not 
wish  to  let?" 

"  I  could  not,"  said  the  Baron.  "  I  must  sell — sell  the 
whole  estate — or  nothing." 

"  So  I  understood,"  replied  Monsieur  de  la  Jolais. 
"  Personally,  of  course,  I  should  much  have  preferred  a  far 
smaller  purchase.  But  I  cannot  help  myself,  and,  when  I 
am  dead,  it  matters  nothing  what  becomes  of  my  money." 
This  was  true,  yet  even  "  the  most  extravagantly  selfish 
nobleman  in  Belgium "  would  hardly  have  made  up  his 
mind  to  such  vast  gratification  of  his  dving  whim,  hud  it 
not  been  for  the  thought  of  young  Eeinout,  the  other 
Rexelaer,  over  yonder  at  the  Hague. 

"  You  have  no  children  ?  "  said  the  Baron.  "  Still,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  there  is  a  young  Monsieur  de  la  Jolais  in 
the  regiment  of  the  Guides." 

"  But,  you  know  all  about  us,  Monsieur,"  rejoined  the 
Marquis  with  a  faint  smile.  "  It  is  my  cousin.  He  is  a 
young  rogue  who  only  this  year  iieglected  my  Saint's  Day 
for  the  races.  I  shall  leave  him  Saint-Leu  and  its  belong- 
ings.    Nothing  more.     Saint-Leu  is  my  home." 

"  I  know,"  said  the  Baron  sadly.    "  Who  does  not?    One 


NOT  AS  WE  WILL,  BUT  AS  WE  WOULD,  0  LORD.   131 

knows    of    Chatsworth,  of  Dampierre.     Even  the  vulgar. 
One  knows  of  Saint-Leu." 

The  Marquis  was  gratified,  whether  dying  or  not.  He 
nodded  approval.  "  But  I  am  taking  up  your  time,"  he 
said.  "  If  you  will  kindly  direct  me  to  the  person  whom 
you  wish  to  act  for  you,  provided  he  nnderstauds  French,  I 
will  send  my  servant,  who  is  entirely  trustworthy,  to  settle 
the  whole  matter  without  delay." 

"  Monsieur,"  replied  the  Baron  hastily,  "  if  you  will  per- 
mit me,  let  us  have  no  intermediaries.  The  various  mort- 
gages on  Deynum  amount  to  four  hundred  thousand  florins. 
The  net  produce  of  the  estate  is  about  twelve  thousand. 
We  must  not  ask  what  thousands  the  building  of  the  Castle 
has  cost.  I  am  told  that,  at  the  present  moment,  if  sold  by 
auction,  it  would  hardly  realize  three  hundred  and  twenty." 

"  I  offer  you  three  hundred  and  twenty,"  said  the  Mar- 
quis, "on  certain  conditions.  One  is  that  you  allow  me  to 
take  over  all  the  furniture  I  require,  exclusive  of  heirlooms, 
at  a  valuation." 

"  Take  the  heirlooms  too ! "  burst  out  the  Baron,  losing 
his  hold. 

"  Exclusive  of  heirlooms,"  repeated  the  Marquis  softly, 
"  These,  if  you  wish,  I  will  have  properly  catalogued  and 
put  aside.  My  second  condition  is  that  the  secret  of  my 
identity  be  inviolably  kept,  by  yourself,  on  your  word  of 
honour,  by  any  official  concerned  in  the  matter,  on  oath." 

The  Baron  bowed. 

"  I  have  a  third  condition  which  I  hardly  like  to  bring 
forward.  My  days  are  numbered.  I  am  anxious — I  should 
wish—" 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  Baron.  "  In  forty-eight  hours." 
The  other  did  not  protest.     In  decency  he  could  not. 

"  I,"  said  the  Baron,  taking  up  his  hat,  "  I  also  have  a 
condition.  One  only.  I  should  wish  to  have  it  inserted  in 
the  contract." 

"And  it  is?" 
10 


132  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

"  That  you  and  your  heirs  and  assignees  after  you  sol- 
emnly bind  yourselves  never  to  sell  the  estate  or  any  part 
of  the  estate  to  a  person  who  calls  himself  Count  Hilarius 
van  Rexelaer  or  to  any  of  his  descendants,  relations  or  con- 
nections." 

The  Marquis  waited  some  considerable  time  before  he 
answered.     Then  he  asked  wearily  :  "  Say  it  again,  please." 

Baron  van  Eexelaer  repeated  the  clause,  slowly.  "  Sell 
the  estate  or  part  of  the  estate — tltcd  I  will  promise.  Cer- 
tainly. I  have  no  objection,"  said  M.  de  la  Jolais  with  half- 
closed  eyes. 

"  Or  let,"  added  the  Baron,  delighted  at  his  own  perspi- 
cacity. 

"  Or  let.  Undoubtedly.  The  clause  to  be  binding  in 
perj)etuity.     Au  revoir." 

The  Baron  van  Rexelaer  stumbled  over  the  door-step, 
and  crej)t  down  the  steep  stairs.  He  was  not  thinking  very 
much,  of  his  loss;  he  realized  it  no  more  than  a  fond  woman 
realizes  her  husband's  sudden  death  at  her  side.  He  was 
debating  how  he  should  raise  the  money  still  wanting  to 
comjDlete  the  mortgage  and  yet  manage  to  supjiort  his  wife 
and  child. 

It  was  a  very  lovely  morning  in  the  jDark,  brilliant  with 
deep-golden  sunshine,  cheerfully  warm  and  yet  freshly  in- 
vigorating^with  no  sound  but  the  occasional  rustle  of  a 
falling  leaf  through  the  quiet  glow  of  the  cool  brown 
landscape. 

He  must  go  and  tell  his  wife  first  of  all.  He  stopped 
abruptly  in  the  lane.  There  was  a  deeper  depth,  then,  even 
to  deepest  sorrow. 

Mevrouw  was  out  in  the  grounds,  they  told  him. 
Gustave,  who  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  time  watching 
— or,  as  he  called  it,  "  watching  over  " — "  his  family,"  had 
seen  Mevrouw  go  out  with  the  Freule.  The  Baron  wan- 
dered away,  down  one  of  the  avenues,  pondering  over  the 


NOT  AS  WE  WILL,  BUT  AS  WE  WOULD,  0  LORD.     I33 

deficit.  And  his  nuconscious  footsteps  led  liini  naturally  to 
the  chapel,  where  he  found  his  wife,  alone. 

He  saw  her  through  the  open  door,  kneeling  in  the  dim- 
ness by  the  chancel.  He  crept  slowly  into  the  building,  and 
came  close  to  her,  and  knelt  by  her  side. 

The  Baroness  was  muttering  paternosters.  Her  hus- 
band gently  checked  her.  "  Let  us  pray,"  he  said,  "  for 
strength  in  tribulation,  in  deepest  tribulation."  And  they 
prayed. 

The  little  chapel  was  very  silent,  darkly  shadowed,  be- 
neath its  marble  heroes  and  pictured  saints. 

"  I  sometimes  wonder,"  said  the  Baron  when  they 
had  concluded,  "  whether  our  petitions  really  reach  His 
throne." 

"  Oh  hush,  hush,"  whispered  the  lady  in  a  low  voice  of 
horror.  She  spoke  as  one  who  sees  suddenly  evoked  before 
him  visions  of  the  dead. 

"  Are  you  so  confident,  dearest,"  said  the  Baron,  in  the 
same  hushed  accents,  "  that  He  would  leave  us  Deynum, 
were  we  to  ask  it  of  Him  ?  " 

"  He  has  left  it  us  hitherto,"  replied  his  wife  evasively. 

"  But  were  He  to  take  it  from  us — supposing  He  had 
already  taken  it  from  us — would  He,  will  He  give  us 
strength  to  bear  the  loss  ?  " 

The  White  Baroness  rose  slowly  to  her  feet.  "  It  is  im- 
possible," she  said.  "  I  will  not  believe  it.  Eeinout,  my 
husband,  why  do  you  speak  of  these  things  ?  " 

Eeinout  van  Rexelaer  flung  himself  prone  on  the  altar- 
steps. 

"  Oh  God,'  he  cried  with  a  sudden  loudness  that  seemed 
to  strike  against  the  solemn  hush  around.  "  Oh  God  that 
hearest  not  petitions  for  this  world's  prosperity,  hear  now 
our  cry  for  strength,  to  bear  the  weight  of  prayers  un- 
heard ! " 

He  lay  silent,  with  his  hands  before  his  face.  And  she 
stood  beside  him,  white,  and  silent  too. 


13-1:  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

^lany  minutes  liad  passed,  when  she  stooped  forward  and 
laid  her  hand  ujiou  his  shoulder.  She  drew  the  fingers 
away  from  his  face,  and  slowly  lifted  it  upwards.  Her  own 
was  set  hard  and  strong  as  if  carved  in  nuirble. 

"  Happy  they,"  she  said,  "  who  suffer  blameless  for  their 
fathers'  sins.  Yours,  my  darling,  was  a  heritage  of  ruin, 
mortgaged  acres  and  a  noble  name.  And  the  name  is 
nobler  now  in  your  unsullied  keeping  than  ever  knight 
has  held  in  the  days  of  yore.  And  the  lands ! — God  gave 
them  :  man  has  taken.  You  and  I,  we  have  each  other. 
Love  is  God's  to  give,  not  even  His  to  take  away !  " 

She  pointed  to  the  blazon  over  the  chancel- window,  as  he 
still  knelt  staring  at  her  with  troubled  eyes  :  "  Ipsa  glorior 
infamia,"  she  said. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  made  as  if  he  would  have  kissed 
her.     But  she  put  him  away. 

"  Strong,"  she  said.  "  Strong.  We  have  struggled  to 
retrieve  the  misdoings  of  our  fathers.  We  have  struggled 
our  life  long,  and  the  end  has  been  vain.  And  we  are  utterly 
ashamed.     But  ours  is  a  glorious  shame." 

He  had  neither  the  courage  nor  the  power  at  that  mo- 
ment to  undeceive  her  in  the  midst  of  what,  at  best,  was  but 
a  partial  truth. 

"  Papa  !  Mamma  !  "  cried  the  child's  bright  voice  at  the 
chapel  door.  It  dropped  as  she  came  up  the  little  aisle. 
"  I  have  been  looking  everywhere  for  you.  Mamma."  There 
was  a  note  of  lietulance  in  her  words.  It  seemed  to  her 
young  restlessness  that  her  mother  was  perpetually  pray- 
ing. 

"Shall  we  tell  her?"  asked  her  father  aloud.  The 
mother  nodded  Yes.  "  Child,"  he  continued,  turning  full 
towards  his  daughter.  "  We  are  going  to  leave  Deynum. 
We  are  going  away." 

She  brought  her  hands  swiftly  together,  as  if  to  clap 
them,  then  checked  herself,  remembering  where  she  was. 


NOT  AS  WE  WILL,  BUT  AS  WE  WOULD,  0  LORD.     135 

"  Oh  delicious  !  "  she  said,  with  bated  ecstasy.  "  Are  we  to 
stay  with  my  uncle  de  Heerle?  Or,  Papa,  will  you  take 
me  to  the  Hague  at  last  ?  " 

"  Hush,  Wendela,  you  must  not — " 

"  But  you  have  promised  for  the  last  three  years." 

"  You  must  not  misunderstand  me,  little  daughter.  We 
are  going,  never  to  return." 

Wendela  stamped  her  foot  on  the  marble  floor,  an  old, 
bad  habit  of  her  imjoetuous  nature,  which  required  a  lot  of 
breaking.     "  But  no,"  she  said,  "  I  do  not  understand." 

"  It  is  going  to  be  sold,"  interposed  the  Baron  desper- 
ately. 

As  the  words  fell  upon  her,  the  child's  face  seemed  for 
a  moment  to  harden  and  lose  all  its  youthfulness.  It  grew 
sharp  and  thin ;  it  would  have  been  wonderfully  like  her 
mother's,  but  for  the  flaming  eyes. 

"  Sold,"  she  repeated,  as  if  thinking  out  the  word — then 
fiercely : 

"  Papa,  this  is  not  your  wickedness  !  " 

"  Wanda  ?  "  cried  her  mother,  but  her  father  motioned 
back  all  protest.  "  Wickedness  ?  "  he  said.  "  No,  we  are 
too  poor  to  keep  it,  and  therefore — " 

"  Then  it  is  God's  !  "  she  burst  out  and,  leaping  up  the 
altar-steps,  she  suddenly  struck  down,  in  fierce  passion,  one 
of  the  great  vases  filled  with  white  chrysanthemums,  send- 
ing its  beautiful  weight  in  clattering  fragments  over  the 
floor.  And  then  she  fled  away,  she  knew  not  whither,  in  a 
loud  tempest  of  weeping. 

Piet  Poster  found  her,  half  an  hour  later,  curled  up 
near  Lady  Bertha's  Cross,  under  the  trees,  in  a  limp  bundle 
of  misery. 

"  What  is  it,  Freule  ?  Are  you  asleep  ?  "  he  asked  of  a 
lot  of  tumbled  hair  on  two  rounded  arms.  But  no  voice 
would  answer.     Nor  any  feature  show  itself. 

Something  told  him  however  that  the  silent  figure  was 
not  asleep,  but  animate,  watchful,  listening.     We   always 


136  TOE   GREATER   GLORY. 

feel  that.  He  was  alarmed,  or  perhaps  a  little  curious.  He 
gently  touched,  then  shook,  an  irresponsive  arm.  Then, 
although  he  was  only  a  little  peasant-boy,  he  hit  upon  a 
powerful  ruse. 

"  She  is  ill,"  he  said  aloud.  "  I  must  go  for  some- 
body." 

And  he  ran  oS  a  few  steps.  She  started  to  her  feet  im- 
mediately, hot  and  ruffled.  "  Can't  you  leave  me  alone  V  " 
she  cried.     "  I  want  to  be  quiet." 

He  came  back  quite  close.  "  I'm  so  sorry,"  he  said. 
"  You've  been  crying.     "What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  crying,"  she  answered  angrily. 

He  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  amend  his  words  or 
to  charge  her  with  prevarication. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  "I  didn't  know."  And  he  de- 
parted, with  his  hands  pushed  down  tight  into  tlie  pockets 
of  his  rusty  small-clothes. 

Upon  which  she,  being  a  woman  right  down  to  the  very 
bottom  of  her  twelve-year-old  development,  called  him 
back.     "  Piet,"  she  said,  "  can  you  keep  a  secret  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  made  answer  stolidly,  with  a  still  lower  push 
of  his  tightly-wedged  arms. 

"  But  I  mean  a  real  secret.  Eeally  truly.  Never  to  tell 
nobody  till  somebody  else  tells  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Piet,  and  lifted  his  blue  eyes  and  looked  at 
her. 

"  I  am  going  away  for  good,"  said  TVendela,  with  a 
catch  in  her  throat,  and  then,  giving  way  to  the  very  lux- 
ury of  grief :  "  We  shall  never  see  each  other  any  more." 

Piet  stood  some  moments  immovable,  his  round  pink 
and  white  face  very  troubled.     At  last  he  said  sturdily : 

"  Never  is  a  long  word,  Freule." 

She  was  piqued.  "  You  don't  care,"  she  cried.  "  You've 
been  saying  all  along  that  things  weren't  as  they  used  to  be. 
You've  got  another  sweetheart.     I  know  you  have." 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  interrupted  Piet. 


NOT  AS  WE  WILL,  BUT  AS  WE  WOULD,  0  LORD.    137 

"  Yes,  you  have.  And  you'll  want  me  less  than  ever 
now  I  can't  make  you  Lord  of  Deynum.  Though  I  should 
never  have  done  that,  for  you're  only  a  peasant-boy.  You're 
a  bad  boy,  besides,  and  it  was  only  my  fun." 

"  I  know  that,  but  I'm  not  a  bad  boy,"  replied  Piet. 
"  And  you'll  come  back  to  Deynum  when  you've  done." 

"Done  what?  We're  all  going.  Oh  you  stupid,  the 
Castle  is  going  to  be  sold." 

"  Sold,"  repeated  the  boy,  just  as  his  young  mistress  had 
done  an  hour  ago.  He  gave  such  a  dig  with  his  fists  that 
something  cracked  about  his  chubby,  black-clothed  body. 

He  was  a  slow- thinking  boy  :  it  took  liim  a  long  time  to 
work  round  to  what  he  was  in  search  of.  Ultimately  he 
said : 

"  I'll  give  you  all  my  marbles.  I'll  give  you  the  crystal 
one  with  the  silver  lamb  inside." 

"  I  don't  want  your  marbles." 

"  Yes,  you  do,  Freule.  You've  teased  me  about  that  sil- 
ver one  for  weeks." 

"  I  tell  you  I  don't  want  'em.  I  don't  want  anything. 
Never  no  more.  You're  a  horrid  boy.  Go  away.  I  thought 
you  would  have  cried  any  amount  about  never  seeing  me 
again." 

Piet  Poster  was  utterly  at  a  loss.  "  I  am  dreadfully  sor- 
ry," he  said.  "  More  than  about  anything.  More  than  if 
Nick  had  died." 

"  Thank  you  !  To  compare  me  to  your  goat !  "  cried 
Wendela  in  high  indignation. 

"  But  boys  don't  cry,  Freule,  when  they're  son-y.  I  never 
cry,  never  since  I  was  a  little  boy." 

"  You're  a  little  boy  still.  And  you  cried  when  Mamma 
scolded  you  for  letting  Nick  get  among  her  flowers." 

"  That's  different.  Your  Mamma  didn't  scold  me,  and 
then  something  made  me  cry ;  I  couldn't  help  it.  But  I 
didn't  cry  when  father  thrashed  me  for  it." 

Wendela  walked  ofP,  without  condescending  to  further 


138  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

parley.  She  had  seen  Piet's  father  coming  up  along  the 
lane.  And  she  called  back  with  sndden  misgiving  :  "  Re- 
member, it's  a  fearful  secret,  Piet !  " 

The  head-gardener  heard  the  words.  "  What's  this  ?  " 
he  said  roughly  to  his  son.  "  What  mischief  have  you  been 
up  to  again  with  the  Freule  ?  " 

"  It's  no  harm,  father." 

"Well,  then,  what  is  it?" 

"  It's  a  secret,  father  :  I  can't  tell." 

Poster  was  a  brute.  He  struck  the  child  a  heavy  blow 
on  the  head.  "  I'll  teach  you  to  answer  me  like  that,"  he 
said.     "  Tell  me  this  instant." 

"  I  can't,"  said  Piet,  vainly  trying  to  avoid  a  second  blow. 
His  father's  curiosity  was  aroused.  Piet  Poster  had  a  bad 
time  of  it  that  morning. 

"  They  have  no  right  to  sell  it,"  said  Wendela  to  herself 
fiercely,  again  and  again.     "  It  is  mine  !  " 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

AN    aristocrat's   IDEA   OF   THE   LAW. 

The  news  was  all  over  the  village  in  a  couple  of  hours. 
The  head-gardener  felt  the  more  angry  with  his  son  for  hav- 
ing deprived  him  of  the  "  primeur." 

The  Baron  knew  that  everyone  knew — had  he  not  or- 
dered his  steward  to  publish  the  tidings  ? — and  in  each 
meeting  with  each  of  his  vassals  lay  hidden  a  fresh  dis- 
crowning. 

He  locked  himself  up  in  his  room.  That  was  a  weak- 
ness, and  so  he  told  himself.  The  Baroness  went  among 
her  poor  as  usual,  encountered,  at  every  step,  by  red  eyes 
and  looks  of  dull  despair.  One  or  two  tried  to  speak,  but 
she  motioned  them  imperiously  into  silence,  and  then  in- 
quired after  their  ailments,  or  the  baby. 

The  Baron,  in  the  solitude  of  his  private-room  had 
enough  to  occupy  him.  Never,  perhaj^s,  was  a  home  of 
many  centuries  so  hurriedly  shifted  from  hand  to  hand,  and 
two  days  supervened  of  ceaseless  packing  and  much  confu- 
sion. All  that  the  Baron  wished  to  retain  was  rapidly 
inventoried  by  the  steward  and  stowed  away  in  the  great 
drawing-room  :  the  armour,  the  portraits,  the  safes  with  the 
plate  and  jewellery,  and,  above  all,  the  archives.  There 
was  a  great  jumble  of  it,  all  huddled  pell-mell,  boxes  and 
chests,  and  heavy  oak-cupboards,  "  to  bo  arranged  here- 
after"; with  his  own  hand  the  Baron  had  locked  them. 
The  servants  were  active,  but  flurried,  some  of  them  deeply 
grieved  and  aggrieved,  others  interested  and  amused. 


140  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

The  Baron  sat  before  his  account-books.  They  are 
seldom  pleasant  reading  to  an  honest  man,  for  an  honest 
man  is  usually  a  poor  one.  To  him,  who  had  been  quite 
honest,  but  very  imprudent,  they  were  unpleasant  reading 
indeed.  His  recent  losses  at  the  Stock-Exchange  had,  in 
spite  of  all  his  computations,  exceeded  anything  he  could 
have  imagined  possible,  and  the  crash  of  the  last  day's  sale 
had  made  them  irretrievable.  He  had  seen  the  ripe  apjile 
falling  straight  into  Count  Eexelaer's  lap,  and,  with  a  sud- 
den impulse,  had  dashed  it  away  to  the  Belgian.  And  with 
the  Baron  there  was  no  question  of  mere  rivalry  or  malice 
in  this  solemn  struggle  to  keep  the  dead  lion's  skin  unsullied 
by  the  shoulders  of  the  Pseudo-Eexelaer.  It  was  the  one 
duty  he  still  owed  to  his  dying  race,  that  it  should  die. 

The  Count  at  the  Hague  would  undoubtedly  have  paid 
more  than  any  other  living  man — it  was  this  which  Strum 
had  rightly  taken  into  consideration ;  had  the  Count  not 
been  willing  to  assume  the  entire  weight  of  the  mortgages  ? 
And  the  Baron  could  well  have  used  the  money.  To  pay 
off  tlie  entire  debt  on  the  estate  and  to  meet  the  demand 
from  his  brokers  he  must  sell  whatever  funded  property  he 
possessed,  and  yet,  count  up  his  assets  as  often  as  he  would, 
he  still  always  found  himself  confronted  by  a  deficit  of  fifty 
thousand  florins.  It  is  a  small  sum  to  have,  but  it  is  an 
immense  sum  to  want.  He  must  have  it  to  save  him  from 
bankruptcy.  Yet — be  it  noted  at  once — this  does  not  mean 
that  he  was  absolutely  penniless.  It  means,  unfortunately, 
that  some  thirty  thousand  florins  of  his  wife's  little  prop- 
erty had  been  unexpectedly  swallowed  up  in  the  vortex,  but 
an  income  of  four  thousand  (£330)  still  remained  secure, 
this  being  derived  from  a  fund  not  under  his  control,  of 
which  Strum,  as  the  family-notary,  was  hereditary  trustee. 
It  was  Eexelaer-money,  the  sum  having  been  set  aside  by  a 
head  of  the  house  in  the  seventeenth  century,  with  the 
especial  object  of  forming  a  small  annual  allowance  to  be 
paid,  in  perpetuity,  to  the  wife  of  the  reigning  lord,  under 


AN  ARISTOCRAT'S  IDEA  OP  THE  LAW.  141 

the  name  of  "  The  Lady's  Dole."  It  had  been  so  paid  to 
this  day. 

"  The  Notary  Strum  is  waiting,"  announced  Gustave  in 
a  loud  voice,  after  having  twice  vainly  coughed.  It  was 
Gustave's  peculiarity  to  indicate  everyone  as  far  as  possible 
by  his  trade  or  profession.  "  There  are  too  many  masters 
now-a-days,"  he  said.  "  Look  at  me.  I  am  plain  Gustave 
Gorgel."  And  he  would  throw  out  his  chest  and  look  very 
big  and  sj^lendid.     The  words  were  modest. 

The  Baron  started  and  dropped  his  pen.  "  Just  so,"  he 
said.  "  Let  him  come  in.  You  find  me  very  busy,  Strum. 
It  has  come  so  unexpectedly,  this  decision  to  go  abroad. 
But  I  hope  the  change  will  do  Mevrouw  good.  She  is  look- 
ing very  white." 

"  Mevrouw  has  always  looked  white,"  said  Strum.  He 
sat  down,  all  of  a  piece,  as  if  he  were  afraid  of  dropping 
some  part  of  himself  and  losing  it.  He  was  calmly  con- 
tented. The  sale  would  bring  him  in  a  large  profit,  and  he 
would  probably  become  agent  to  an  absentee  owner.  The 
Baron  was  a  fool  not  to  have  preferred  the  better  buyer,  but 
that  was  the  Baron's  business.    He,  Strum,  had  done  his  duty. 

"  Still,  I  hope  the  climate  of  Germany  will  do  her  good," 
said  Mynheer  van  Rexelaer. 

"The  climate  of  Germany  is  large,  Mynheer.  Which 
part  of  it  is  to  benefit  the  Baroness?" 

"  I — I  am  not  certain  as  yet  where  we  shall  go." 

"You  are  only  certain.  Mynheer,  that  you  must  be 
gone."  Strum  dropped  his  eyes  over  his  great  gloved 
hands,  and  spread  out  the  hands  on  his  knees.  The  shad- 
ow of  the  majesty  of  Deynum  had  lain  over  him  ever  since 
his  babyhood.  In  another  day  or  two  he  would  be  rid  of 
these  liexelaers  for  ever.     Ouf ! 

"  Strum,"  said  the  Baron,  roused  to  his  duty  by  the 
Notary's  insolence.  "  We  are  ruined.  You  know  it.  It 
would  have  broken  your  good  father's  heart,  had  he  lived 
to  see  this  day." 


142  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

"  My  good  father's  heart  was  continually  breaking,  but 
he  managed  to  live  very  well  on  the  fragments.  '  Xever 
mind  a  cracked  heart,'  I  have  heard  him  say,  '  if  only  your 
head  be  sound.'" 

For  the  moment  the  Baron  felt  agreeably  cooled  by  this 
succession  of  douches.  It  was  quite  easy,  he  found,  to  con- 
front his  old  dependents,  if  they  remained  indifferent  to,  or 
even  secretly  gloried  in,  his  discomfiture. 

"  I  have  sent  for  you,  sir,"  he  said  haughtily,  "  to  trans- 
act business.  There  is  one  point  especially  which  I  must 
speak  about.  The  fund  under  your  administration,  known 
as  '  The  Lady's  Dole,'  amounts  at  present,  I  believe,  to  a 
sum  total  of  about  one  hundred  thousand  florins.  I  sjoeak 
under  correction  ?  " 

The  Xotary  nodded,  and  blinked  his  eyes  behind  their 
spectacles. 

"  According  to  the  terms  of  the  settlement  that  money 
becomes  the  property  of  the  last  representative  of  the  house, 
as  soon  as  it  is  absolutely  certain  that  there  will  be  no  more 
Baronesses  van  Eexelaer.  That  time  has  come.  The  cer- 
tainty has  existed  for  several  years.  There  will  be  no  more 
Baronesses  van  Eexelaer." 

The  Xotary  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  require  the  money  now  to  pay  off  the  mortgages. 
That  is  to  say  :  I  require  half  of  it.     AVe  must  sell  out." 

"Bat  your  own  private  property,  Mynheer?"  began 
young  Xicholas  in — for  him — an  insinuating  tone. 

"  I  require  the  money,"  repeated  the  Baron  in  a  louder 
voice.  "  And,  according  to  the  terms  of  the  settlement,  as 
I  say,  there  is  no  reason  for  reserving  it  any  longer." 

The  Notary  took  off  his  spectacles  and  commenced  care- 
fully rubbing  them.  And  then  a  sly  leer  crept  over  his 
naked-looking  face — we  all  know  the  suddenly  undressed 
appearance  of  these  short-sighted  eyes — and  he  murmured  : 

"Except  the  fortunate  fact  that  your  lady  is  not  yet 
deceased." 


AN  ARISTOCRAT'S  IDEA  OP  THE  LAW.  143 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?  "  cried  tlie  Baron  indig- 
nantly. "Do  you  expect  Mevrouw  to  object?  Shall  we 
have  her  in  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  cried  the  Notary  hastily. 

"  I  should  think  not,"  said  Mynheer  van  Eexelaer,  sink- 
ing back  in  scorn.  "  As  I  pointed  out,  Mevrouw  is  the 
last  of  those  who  could  possibly  be  entitled  to  the  interest, 
and  she  will  be  only  too  glad  to  forego  it,  if  the  caj^ital  can 
be  used  on  my  behalf  and  her  own." 

"  But,  unfortunately,  trustees  must  be  guided  by  their 
trust  alone.  Mine  enjoins  me  to  preserve  the  capital  in- 
tact as  long  as  there  exists,  or  can  exist,  a  consort  of  a 
Rexelaer  van  Deynum.  It  can  therefore  only  be  paid  over 
to  your  widow  or,  if  you  survive  the  Baroness,  to  your 
daughter  after  your  death.     Surely  you  see  that." 

But  he  did  not  see  it,  simple-minded  gentleman  that  he 
was.  "  Am  I  to  believe,"  he  cried  nervously,  "  that  you 
refuse  me  this  money  which  belongs  by  rights  to  my  wife 
and  myself.  Surely  you  can  understand  that  she  is  the  last 
Baroness." 

Strum  readjusted  his  spectacles  and  looked  down. 

"  You  refuse  ?  "  cried  the  Baron  hotly,  rising  in  his  seat. 
"  Yes  or  no  ?  " 

Strum  pushed  back  his  cliair  with  a  grating  jerk  along 
the  floor.  "  And  supposing  the  Baroness  were  to  die,"  he 
said  roughly.  "  Supposing  you  were  to  marry  again.  You 
are  barely  sixty.     Supposing — ' 

"  Hold,"  shouted  the  Baron,  beside  himself.  "  You  in- 
sult me.  I  shall  not  marry  again.  I  want  this  money.  I 
must  have  it.  Must ;  do  you  hear  ?  It  is  the  only  possible 
means  of  avoiding  disgrace.  For  centuries  your  ancestors 
have  been  the  faithful  servants  of  an  illustrious  house.  I 
am  an  old  man ;  you  are  a  young  one.  For  the  last  time  I 
ask  you:  Will  you  rescue  the  name  of  Ilexelacr?"  He 
breathed  hard.     Oh,  the  humiliations  of  this  pleading ! 

"  I  can't  do  it,"  burst  out  Nicholas  with  an  oath.     He 


144  THE  GKEATEU  GLORY. 

was  niovec],  iu  s^iite  of  liis  common  sense.  "  You  want  to 
make  a  dishonest  man  of  me.  I  won't.  And  my  dead 
fatlier  whom  yon  always  respected — " 

"  Go"  thundered  the  Baron,  pointing  to  the  door. 

"  Why  didn't  you  sell  to  Count  Kexelaer,  Mynheer  the 
Baron  ?  "  Strum  went  on  recklessly.  "  I  had  arranged  it 
all  for  you,  and  there  would  have  been  money  enough." 
He  came  nearer ;  a  sudden  idea  had  seized  him.  "  The 
heirlooms,"  he  suggested  eagerly  with  the  old  smile  of  sup- 
pliant impertinence  upon  his  speckled  face.  "  The  portraits 
and  all  the  rest?  Count  Eexelaer  would  give  a  lot  for 
those?" 

And  then,  in  the  dimness  and  the  whirlwind,  the  Baron 
struck  him. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE    SPOILER   AND   THE    SPOILED. 

The  Baron  was  very,  very  sorry,  as  he  sat  alone,  once 
more,  among  his  litter  of  papers  and  account-books.  That 
is  the  worst  of  a  good  man's  forgetting  himself,  he  is 
obliged  to  remember  afterwards.  While  he  still  smiled  at 
the  other's  threats  of  vengeance,  the  vengeance  had  already 
begun  in  his  own  awakening  remorse.  Yet  he  might  well 
have  dreaded  Strum's  seeming  impotence,  could  he  have 
read  the  future.  We  seldom  can,  but  of  one  thing  we  may 
be  certain.  The  revenge  of  the  weakest  cuts  deepest,  be- 
cause most  subtly  planned. 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  should  like  to  know,"  said  Gus 
tave,  standing,  stiff  and  smart,  by  the  Baron's  elbow.    That 
gentleman  turned  in  annoyance. 

"  I  believed  Mynheer  had  answered  my  knock.  I  beg 
pardon,"  continued  the  servant,  whose  prevarications  were 
always  virtuous.  He  governed  his  master,  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent, by  alert  apology. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?    Be  quick." 

"  It  is  an  impertinence.  Mynheer  the  Baron."  Gen- 
erous natures,  as  Gustave  well  knew,  condone  a  fault  con- 
fessed. 

"  Then  be  impertinent.  It  would  not  be  for  the  first 
time." 

"  Mynheer  the  Baron  confuses  me  in  his  memory  with 
the  coachman.  W^hat  I  would  venture  to  ask — begging  par- 
don— is  this."  He  stopped.  "You  remember,  Mynheer, 
when  we  were  children  here  together?" 


140  THE  GREATER  (ILORY. 

"  Yes.     Is  that  wliat  you  intruded  ou  me  to  ask?" 

"  And  yon  remember,  Mynheer,  when  I  got  you  your 
saddle  after  Waterloo — we  Avere  both  twelve  then — you  re- 
member ? — the  King's  Wine  I " 

"  Of  course  I  remember.  Things  are  bad  enough,  Gus- 
tave.     Don't  make  them  worse." 

"And  you  remember,"  continued  Gustave,  speaking 
faster  and  faster,  and  louder  and  louder,  "  the  war  of  1830, 
you  oflficer  and  I  corporal.  You  remember  Antwerp  and 
the  Hero  Chasse  and  the  great  charge,  and  your  wound,  and 
how  I  found  you,  and  the  King's  Wine  again  ?  How  we 
thrashed  them,  the  blue  blouses  !  How  they  ran,  the  cow- 
ards !  You  remember.  Major  ?  And  the  Prince  telling  the 
army  you  were  not  only  the  noblest  of  his  nobles,  but  the 
bravest  of  his  soldiers,  too  !  " 

The  man's  voice  had  risen  to  a  cry  of  triumph.  His 
master  was  scratching  an  enveloiDe  with  a  pen. 

"  And  you  remember,  Mynheer,"  Gustave  went  on 
after  a  moment  of  sad  silence,  "  our  coming  home  to 
the  Baroness,  and  later  on  the  birth  of  the  Freule,  and 
all." 

"  Great  Heaven,"  cried  the  Baron  lifting  up  a  haggard 
face.     "  Am  I  likely,  in  my  grave,  to  forget  ?  " 

"  What  I  mean,  ]\I}Tiheer,  is  that  we  have  always,  so  to 
say,  borne  everything — begging  your  pardon — together, 
from  the  cradle.  Xot  that  it  has  anything  to  do  with  my 
question  which  is  just  this,  saving  your  Presence.  Is  there 
ready  money  enough  for  this  sudden  emergency,  Mynheer, 
or  is  there  not  ?  " 

"  There  is  not,"  cried  the  Baron,  whose  nerves  were  by 
this  time  altogether  unstrung,  "  and  if  that  scoundrel  of  a 
iN'otary  has  been  chattering  on  his  way  downstairs — " 

"  No  one  has  said  anything,  Mynheer.  But  I  imagined 
it  might  be  possible,  in  the  unexpectedness  of  the  change. 
And  that  brings  me  to  what  I  wanted  to  say.  It  is  only 
right,  of  course,  that  Mynheer  should  have  secrets  from  me. 


THE  SPOILER  AND  THE  SPOILED.  147 

But  I  have  long  had  a  secret  from  Mynheer,  and  that  was 
wrong." 

The  Baron  looked  up  vaguely,  waiting  for  more. 

"  I — I,"  stammered  Gustave,  quite  at  a  loss,  despite  his 
martial  bearing.  "  Mynheer  has  always  had  my  savings  in 
his  keeping  " — an  expectant  frown  gathered  on  his  master's 
face — "  that  is  nothing.  I  mean  the  savings.  But  a  num- 
ber of  years  ago  a  cousin  of  mine  left  me  fifteen  thousand 
francs.  I  never  told  you,  Mynheer.  I  was  afraid  you  would 
want  me  to  use  the  money,  in  a  shop  or  something.  And  I 
left  it  with  the  rascally  broker,  to  take  care  of  it  for  me." 

"  And  of  course  it  is  gone,"  said  the  Baron.  "  Well, 
you  have  fortunately  still  your  savings,  which  are  secure  in 
my  keeping,  as  you  say." 

Gustave  smoothed  his  grey  hair  shamefacedly. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  different,  Mynheer,"  he  replied  with 
an  apologetic  smile.  "  The  broker  advised  me  to  speculate 
with  the  money,  as  I  didn't  know  what  else  to  do  with  it. 
What  was  I  to  do  with  it,  I  that  in  my  young  time,  when 
you  never  have  enough,  could  not  even  pay  the  Vivandiere? 
It  came  too  late,  that's  the  truth.  I  was  here,  and  had  all 
I  wanted.  The  interest  accumulated,  and  the  speculations 
succeeded,  and  now,  what  with  my  savings  and  this  money, 
I'm  worth  sixty  thousand  florins,  the  broker  says." 

"  You  are  a  singularly  lucky  man,"  said  the  Baron 
bitterly. 

The  other  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  know  about  that," 
he  replied,  "  if  I  may  make  so  bold  as  to  differ.  I  didn't 
want  the  money,  but  I  liked  the  speculating,  after  a  time. 
It's  amusing.  Mynheer.  But  of  late  I've  had  scruples. 
Especially  of  nights,  and  tliey're  dreadful,  are  scruples, 
worse  than  fleas,  if  I  may  be  forgiven  for  saying  so,  for  you 
can't  catch  them,  and  they  go  on  biting,  after  they've  had 
enough  and  you've  said  you  were  sorry.  I  don't  think  it's  a 
nice  way  of  earning  money  ;  it's  a  better  way  of  losing  it." 

"You  think  so,  do  you?    You  speak  from  the  winner's 

n 


14S  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

poiut  of  view."     The  Baron's  eyes  went  wandering  away 
over  liis  open  books. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Mynheer,  one  man's  winnings  are  an- 
other man's  losings,  aren't  they  ?  It's  like  cards.  And  what 
I  can't  understand  is  that  I  who  never  would  touch  a  card 
in  barracks  should  take  to  playing  on  'Change  in  after  life." 
He  shook  his  head  over  this  enigma,  an  old  tormentor. 

"  Well,  don't  grumble  at  your  luck,"  said  the  Baron  im- 
patiently. He  was  disgusted  with  himself  for  being  jealous 
— of  his  servant. 

"  If  I  grumble  at  anything,  it's  my  conscience,  Mynheer. 
I  wish  the  abominable  thing  were  dead.  It  don't  do  to  have 
a  conscience  and  speculate.  I  don't  feel  haj^py  about  my 
winnings.  I  never  earned  them.  I've  stolen  them  from 
somebody,  the  somebody  that  lost,  as  at  cards.  I've  stolen 
them  from  you,  Mynheer.  Lord  forgive  me ;  the  word's 
out!    And  I  wish  you'd  take  the  money  back." 

"  And  who  told  you  I  speculated  ?  How  dare  you  speak 
to  me  like  that?"  cried  the  Baron  fiercely.  On  any  other 
day  he  might  have  been  affectionate,  but  on  this  he  was 
angry. 

"  I  told  you  it  was  an  impertinence.  Mynheer.  I  can 
only  say :  Forgive  me.  Mine  was  American  railways  too, 
Mynheer,  whatever  they  may  be.  It's  always  American  rail- 
ways. So  you  see,  it's  your  own  money  I've  got.  I've  taken 
it  from  you  and  Mevrouw  and  the  Freule.  And  I  do  wish, 
for  God's  sake,  and  my  own  peace  of  soul,  you'd  take  it  back 
again ! '  " 

He  actually  held  out  a  bundle  which  he  had  drawn  from 
his  bulgy  tail-pocket.  His  voice  Avas  passionate  with  hope. 
He  felt  like  a  highwayman,  making  restitution. 

"  Take  the  things  away,"  said  the  Baron  testily,  pushing 
the  outstretched  arm  aside.  "  You  are  indeed  impertinent, 
as  you  say.  And  what  you  propose  is  absurd,  Gustave,  as 
well  as  improper.  Be  thankful  that,  now  you  must  leave 
me,  you  will  be  able  to  live  in  luxury."    And  then  he  drew 


THE  SPOILER  AND  THE  SPOILED.  149 

down  his  old  comrade's  face  close  to  liis  own,  and  looked 
into  his  eyes.  "  I  can't  take  the  money,  dear  fellow,"  he 
said.  "  God  bless  you.  It  is  you  must  forgive  me.  We 
shall  think  of  some  other  way." 

"  I  want  no  leave-takings,"  the  Baron  had  said  several 
times  during  that  crowded  morning.  "  I  could  not  bear 
that."  The  Baroness  had  not  answered  at  first ;  later  on 
she  had  said :  "  There  is  nothing  unbearable.  Hell  must 
be  bearable,  Keinout,  or  Satan  would  die.  We  must  not 
count  on  incapacity  for  suffering." 

The  child  was  very  silent,  surprised  that  no  one  alluded 
to  her  sacrilege  of  the  preceding  day.  They  were  to  leave 
next  morning  early  and  go  into  temporary  lodgings  at 
Cleves,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Grerman  frontier.  "  About 
one  thing  I  am  resolved,"  said  the  Baron.  "  I  must  never 
see  this  place  again."  The  contract  was  to  be  signed  that 
evening ;  the  Marquis  could  take  possession  next  day.  A 
woman,  Loripont's  wife,  had  been  telegraphed  for,  and  the 
great  mansion  was  to  be  abandoned  to  these  three. 

"  Get  a  bottle  of  the  wine,  Gustave,"  said  the  Baron  at 
dinner,  sitting  erect  before  his  untouched  plate,  "  and  you 
shall  have  a  glass  of  it  too.  I  have  had  it  moved  to  the 
drawing-room  with  the  rest.  No  one  else  shall  own  it. 
Least  of  all  a  Belgian."  They  were  a  little  dramatic  in 
those  terrible  days.  It  was  their  salvation.  To  some  lives 
there  come  moments  when  we  cannot  jog  on  in  the  midway 
of  existence ;  we  must  either  sink  utterly,  or  soar.  The 
child's  thoughts  were  preoccupied  with  Piet  Poster.  She 
despised  herself  for  eating  her  dinner. 

The  meal  was  drawing  to  a  close,  when  Gustave  slipped 
through  a  narrow  opening  between  the  heavy  oak-doors. 
"  The  people  are  here,  Mynheer,"  he  said, "  come  to  wish 
your  Nobleness  good-liye  and  God-speed." 

"  The  people  ?  "  cried  the  Baron.     "  Who  ?  " 

*'  Everybody,"  replied  Gustavo,  and  threw  wide  the  doors. 


150  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

The  far  side  of  the  hall  was  full  of  faces  under  the  soft 
light  of  its  stained  glass,  and  with  the  glitter  of  the  armour 
on  both  sides  between  grim  portraits  and  masses  of  late 
flowers  and  greenery.  The  leaders  were  huddled  together 
in  front.  Dievert  the  steward,  and  the  head-gardener  and 
the  coachman,  with  the  other  in  and  out-door  servants,  and 
behind  them  the  great  farmers  with  their  substantial  wives, 
and  the  tradesmen  from  the  village,  and  behind  these  again 
a  medley  of  retainers  and  dependents,  pressing  the  others 
forward,  as  the  doors  opened,  till  the  whole  vestibule  was 
occupied.  A  flood  of  red-cheeked,  awkward  faces,  the  men 
in  tight-fitting  black,  the  wives  in  print  jackets  and  far- 
stretching  caps,  belaced,  befrilled,  be-ribboned  and  be- 
starched.  A  crowd  which  had  been  anxious  to  put  in  an 
appearance,  but  which  would  feel  fur  more  comfortable 
when  once  again  outside. 

The  Baron  looked  from  one  to  another  till  his  eyes 
rested  on  Bulbius  in  a  corner  by  the  door.  "  This  is  most 
kind,"  he  stammered.  "  I  am  at  a  loss — "  Then  he 
stopped,  seeing  that  the  steward  was  about  to  make  a 
speech.  He  rose  and  came  forward,  with  his  wife  and 
child. 

The  steward,  Dievert,  was  a  supremely  self-conscious  man, 
corpulent,  important,  inclined  to  look  warm.  He  looked 
very  warm  indeed  as  he  began  his  carefully  prepared  ora- 
tion : 

"  Mynheer  the  Baron,  our  highly  respective — respected 
landheer,  we,  that  is  all  those  who  are  in  any  way  connected 
with  your  property  of  Deynnm,  we  have — we  are — "  He 
stuck. 

"  Dreadfully  sorry  you're  going  away,"  said  a  voice  from 
the  back. 

The  steward  frowned,  but  this  outrage  suddenly  restored 
him  to  the  full  command  of  his  diminishing  dignity.  He 
launched  safely  into  smooth  floods  of  laudatory  eloquence, 
praising  the  Baron,  the  Baroness,  and  all  their  ancestors 


THE  SPOILER  AND   THE  SPOILED.  151 

and  belongings,  for  all  deeds  done  and  undone,  for  their 
birth  and  their  existence,  for  the  death  of  such  as  had  gone 
before.  And  as  he  heaped  up  his  praises,  his  face  grew 
warmer  and  warmer,  and  the  Baron's  heart  froze  cold  as 
stone.  Simple-minded  as  the  latter  was,  he  could  see 
clearly  enough  in  such  matters  as  belonged  to  his  com- 
petence. He  was  well  aware  that  Dievert  was  an  honest 
steward  who  had  never  cheated  his  master  above,  and 
never  beneath,  the  legitimate  limit  of  a  steward's  cheat- 
ery. 

"  And  now  that  the  sun  is  to  set  upon  our  village,"  per- 
orated the  spokesman  of  the  peasantry,  "  now  that — "  (sud- 
denly he  began  wondering  to  himself  what  the  new  lord 
would  be  like,  and  the  thought  distracted  his  attention. 
lie  stuck  again).     "  Now  that — now  then — " 

"  Now  then,"  said  Wendela,  too  audibly,  from  her  place 
by  her  mother's  side.  There  was  a  general  laugh,  and  in 
the  reaction  a  woman's  voice  broke  into  shrill  weeping. 
Others  followed  the  tempting  example.  The  speech  was  at 
an  end. 

"  Thank  you.  Thank  you,"  said  the  Baron,  shaking 
hands  with  the  wet-eyed  and  the  dry-eyed,  the  simpering, 
the  stolid,  and  the  sorrowful.  He  stood  in  the  entrance. 
In  calmer  moments  he  could  have  told  you  all  about  their 
sentiments  and  measured  to  an  ounce  (of  groceries)  the 
sympathy  and  sadness  of  every  one  of  them. 

"  Come,  Bulbius,"  he  said,  when  it  was  over.  "  Come  in 
and  drink  good  luck  to  all  of  us." 

"  I  can't,  I  can't,"  protested  the  Father  in  broken  ac- 
cents, and  solemnly  emptied  the  glass  the  Baron  had  poured 
out.  Then,  without  more  ado,  he  struck  it  against  the  side 
of  the  table,  snapping  it  at  the  stem. 

"  Pray  for  us,  reverend  father,"  burst  out  the  Baroness, 
"  when  we  are  gone.  Pray  for  us  night  and  day.  You  can- 
not pray  enough.     And  peradventure — " 

"  Hush,"  he  interrupted  her.     "  Gracious   lady,  prayer 


152  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

has  no  peradvcnture.     Alas  that  sometimes,  in  God's  wis- 
dom, adversity  should  be  its  Amen." 

He  turned  away,  to  leave  them,  but  at  the  door  he  looked 
round.  "■  I  forgot  to  tell  you,"  he  said.  "  Veronica  has  been 
in  a  terrible  temper  all  day.  At  one  moment  I  feared  she 
was  going  to  beat  me.     She  has  such  a  tender  heart." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    marquis's   HEIRS. 

The  Marquis  was  restless.  He  walked  up  and  down  the 
room.  For  a  moment  a  fictitious  strength  was  upon  him, 
and  he  rejoiced  in  it.  The  nun  eyed  him  cautiously  out  of 
her  little  slits  of  eyes,  under  the  solemn  veil. 

For  there  was  a  nun  with  him  now,  a  Sister  of  Mercy. 
The  Marquis  wanted  a  hundred  useless  attentions  in  the 
constant  changes  of  his  whim.  Nursing  him  was  exhaust- 
ing work,  physically  and  mentally,  for,  in  his  continuous 
flight  from  himself,  he  could  not  be  in  repose,  and  he  would 
not  be  alone. 

And  so  every  moment  the  sick  man  thought  of  some- 
thing else  he  wanted,  merely  because  it  was  something  else. 
Loripont  wearied  under  the  perpetual  strain,  and  showed  it. 
"  Then  get  somebody  till  your  wife  comes,"  said  his  master. 
"  Not  longer.  Get  a  sister.  They  hold  their  tongues." 
The  woman  had  come  that  morning,  and  had  ministered  to 
the  Marquis's  wants  all  day.  She  was  a  fat,  middle-aged 
woman,  mealy,  expressionless,  buttoned-eyed.  She  spoke  in 
the  shortest  of  sentences,  and  a  sleepy  voice. 

"  The  house  is  exactly  what  I  needed,"  said  the  Marquis 
for  the  twentieth  time  that  day.  He  stopped  and  vaguely 
eyed  the  monstrous  lamp  in  the  middle  of  the  ceiling.  "  I 
shall  be  absolute  master  of  my  surroundings  there,  alone 
with  the  Loriponts,  in  a  wide  expanse  of  park.  I  could  not 
have  found  better,  had  I  hunted  for  years.  Of  course  it  is 
enormously  expensive,  but  what  matters  money  to  a  man 
who  may  be  dead  in  a  month  ?  " 


151  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

He  walked  a  few  steps  farther  and  halted  in  front  of  the 
nun. 

"  What  matters  money,"  he  repeated,  "  to  a  man  who 
will  be  dead  in  a  month  ?  " 

"  Xotliing,"  rej^lied  the  nun.  They  had  sent  him  one 
who  understood  a  little  French. 

"  And  besides,  the  value  of  the  estate  remains.  I  offered 
him  the  lowest  figure ;  it  may  not  be  a  bad  bargain  after 
all.  Absolute  seclusion  !  I  should  say  luck  had  befriended 
me,  were  it  not  that  I  knew  that  everything  is  possible  to 
him  that  pays." 

He  rambled  on,  to  himself,  not  to  her,  though  he  liked 
to  have  a  human  creature  listening.  In  an  hour  they  would 
be  coming  with  the  deed  of  purchase.  To-morrow  he  would 
hide  himself,  behind  thick  walls  and  wide  woods,  to  shriek 
out  his  life  if  he  chose.  For  the  outside  world,  he  would 
sink  away  into  slow  oblivion,  and  none  of  his  whilom 
"friends"  would  ever  ai^prehend  that  the  unconquerable 
Marquis  had,  in  his  turn,  been  conquered  by  the  great  Con- 
queror, Pain. 

"  What  would  it  matter,"  continued  M.  de  la  Jolais, 
"  whether  I  left  behind  me  ten  francs  or  ten  million  ?  The 
Vicomte,  my  dear  cousin,  would  not  have  a  penny,  could  I 
deprive  him  of  his  share.  I  hate  him.  And  as  for  my 
sister's  child,  whom  I  have  never  seen,  why  should  I  love 
her?" 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  "  he  asked,  almost  fiercely,  turning 
on  the  Sister  of  Mercy.  He  did  not  much  care  what  she 
said,  as  long  as  she  talked. 

"  Xothing,"  replied  Sister  Constantia,  smoothly,  and 
went  on  watching  him  out  of  her  half-closed  eyes. 

The  Marquis  sank  into  his  large  elbow-chair. 

"  A  beautiful  quality  in  a  woman,"  he  said  half  sneer- 
ingly,  half  smilingly.  "  Had  Madame  Cochonnard  under- 
stood its  value,  I  might  now  have  had  somebody  worth 
leaving  my  money  to.     But  she  got  into  a  habit  of  saying 


THE   MARQUIS'S   HEIRS.  155 

'  Yes ! '  the  worst  thing  your  sex  can  get  into  the  hii'bit  of 
sayijig.  Could  you  have  loved  a  creature  of  the  name  of 
Cochonnard  ?  " 

The  nun  dropped  her  eyes.  "  We  love  no  one,  Mon- 
sieur," she  said. 

"  A  Avoman,  I  mean,  of  course,"  said  the  Marquis,  testily. 
"  I  do  not  forget  to  whom  I  am  speaking." 

"  Ah — ,"  said  the  nun  slowly.  "  We  love  everybody. 
Monsieur.  Yes,  I  could  have  loved  anyone,  whatever  their 
name." 

"  Then  excuse  my  saying,  ma  soeur,  that  you  have  no 
discriminating  taste.  Why,  the  very  name  is  unpronounce- 
able in  society,  so  naturally  the  woman  that  bore  it  was 
dead  there." 

He  fell  into  a  reverie.  "  To  whom  would  you  leave  your 
money,"  he  said  presently,  "  if  you  were  dying,  and  had  no 
one  to  leave  it  to  ?  " 

He  talked  thus  constantly  of  dying.  He  had  gone 
tlirough  all  the  experiences  of  horror  and  indignation  indi- 
cated above.  Yet  never  for  one  moment  had  he  realized 
the  actuality  of  death.  It  was  in  him,  yet  outside  him.  He 
was  present  at  the  tragedy  of  himself. 

But,  for  the  moment,  at  any  rate,  he  was  alive. 

"  To  my  mother,"  replied  Sister  Constantia,  "  the  com- 
mon mother  of  us  all.  Lo,  there  are  my  mother  and  my 
brethren." 

The  Marquis  made  a  grimace.  "  Yes,  I  know,"  he  said, 
"  It  is  a  large  family.  But  I  have  never  felt  attracted 
towards  the  Great  Unwashed.  That  surely  is  pardonable 
in  me,  for  I  have  always  detested  my  relations." 

"  If  I  were  dying,"  said  the  nun,  roused  from  her  placidity 
by  his  manner,  "  I  would  strive  to  make  my  peace  with  God." 

"  Hoity-toity,"  he  answered.  "  I  know  what  is  meant 
by  that.  All  of  it  to  a  lot  of  lazy  priests,  for  masses  they 
never  say  !  No,  ma  s(eur,  I  am  an  upholder  of  religion — it 
is  invaluable — but  I  aui  not  a  fool." 


15G  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

They  were  silent  for  some  time ;  she  being  too  angry  to 
reply. 

"  "Waste  is  wickedness,"  added  tlie  Marquis  spitefully. 
"  I  never  spent  a  jDennv,  but  I  got  a  penny's  worth  for 
it." 

"Pennies  become  pounds  in  the  heavenly  exchequer," 
replied  Sister  Constantia. 

He  rested  his  face  on  his  hands ;  the  face  was  thin,  the 
hands  yet  thinner,  long,  slender  and  white. 

When  at  last  he  moved  again,  he  said,  without  looking 
at  her :  "  I  wonder,  would  it  be  worth  while? " 

She  waited. 

"  Xot  to  give  it  to  the  priests,  mind  you.  I  won't  give 
a  penny  to  the  priests.  But  to  let  the  poor  have  it.  Some- 
thing must  be  done  with  it,  and  that  way  might  have  its 
advantages.  Your  convent,  now,  does  it  interest  itself  in 
the  poor  ?     I  supjDOse  so  ?  " 

"  Indeed  it  does,"  said  the  sister.  She  opened  her  eyes 
wide,  not  that  it  made  them  any  wider. 

"  Well,  I  must  see.  I  have  never  thought  it  out  before. 
I  have  never  realized,  nor  wished  to  realize,  the  idea  of  hav- 
ing heirs.  The  old  Baron  here,  I  fancy,  suggested  the  sub- 
ject, and  I  daresay  my  '  poor  relations '  will  do  as  well  as 
anybody  else.  That  means  '  the  monkeys,'  doesn't  it  ?  I 
don't  mean  those  ;  I  mean  the  other  set,  the  canaille.  Peu- 
ah,  it  is  an  unj)leasant  subject.  Oblige  me  by  fetching  An- 
toine." 

Antoine,  who  had  been  lying  down  for  too  short  a  rest, 
appeared  with  sullen  face.  "  I  am  too  lonely,"  said  the 
Marquis.  "  I  must  have  something  to  amuse  me.  You, 
to-morrow  you  will  have  your  wife.  I  do  not  know 
whether  she  amuses  you,  but  she  keeps  you  occupied.  I 
think  I  should  like  to  have  some  of  the  horses ;  there  is 
sure  to  be  plenty  of  room  at  that  place.  Write  and  tell 
them  to  send  '  Jeanneton,'  and  '  Sooty  Jack,'  and  '  Yeuve 
Cliquot.'      It   will   amuse   me    to   look   at   them.     And   I 


THE   MARQUIS'S  HEIRS.  157 

might  as  well  have  the  dogs — the  house-dogs — from  Brus- 
sels." 

"  But,  if  Monsieur  le  Marquis  wishes  it  to  remain  un- 
known that  he  is  here — " 

"  Tiens,  that  is  true."  How  weak  his  head  must  be 
growing  !  "  I  fear  I  shall  have  to  give  up  the  idea.  I  am 
sorry.  But  tell  them  to  send  'Jeannetou.'  A  groom  can 
travel  with  her  to  the  frontier,  and  you  must  fetch  her 
there.  I  have  been  thinking,  if  there  was  anyone  I  should 
care  to  take  leave  of,  and  I  have  set  my  heart  on  seeing 
'  Jeanneton '  again.  She  certainly  is  the  one  creature  who 
loves  me." 

"  Monsieur  le  Marquis  forgets  the  dogs,"  said  the  valet 
calmly. 

"  She  must  be  lonely,  poor  beast,  among  a  lot  of  servants. 
She  cannot  abide  servants,  like  myself.  And  perhaps,  after 
all,  I  shall  get  better,  and  ride  her.  These  doctors  are  con- 
stantly mistaken." 

"  They  are,"  said  Antoine. 

The  Marquis  abandoned  his  listless  attitude.  "  Do  you 
know,"  he  asked  eagerly,  "  of  their  making  a  mistake  in  a 
case  like  mine  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Antoine,  who  had  that  morning  heard 
tlie  tale,  through  Bulbius,  from  Veronica.  "  I  know  of  a 
case  of  a  lady  whom  all  the  doctors  had  given  up."  And 
he  launched  into  a  wonderful  account  of  some  homeopathic 
cure.  "  I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  it,"  interposed  the  sick 
man  occasionally,  as  he  sat  drinking  in  the  glad  details, 
lie  was  quite  vexed  when  the  arrival  of  the  notary  and  his 
two  clerks  interrupted  the  story.  A  few  minutes  later  the 
Baron  appeared.  He  held  out  his  hand  to  Strum,  m'Iio  ig- 
nored it. 

The  deed  was  read,  the  usual  formalities  were  gone 
through,  the  necessary  arrangements  were  made  for  the 
transfer  of  the  purchase-money.  The  only  "  incident  "  of 
any  Importance  occurred  when  the   Baron   van  Eexelaer 


158  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

passed  across  a  slip  of  folded  paper  to  M.  dc  la  Jolais.  The 
Marquis  read  "  "Will  you  iiermit  the  clause  to  be  added,  that 
the  chapel  remain  intact  ?  " 

"  But  certainl}',"  said  M.  de  la  Jolais. 

And  then  came  the  signing  of  the  names.  For  the  last 
time  the  Baron,  now  signing  away  his  manorial  rights, 
would  call  himself  by  the  name  which  had  been  handed 
down  to  him  through  five  slow  centuries.  He  laid  down 
the  pen.  Then,  hurriedly  seizing  it,  he  sprawled  the  words 
across  the  page.  And  he  buried  his  hands  deep  in  his 
pockets,  lest  any  should  notice  how  they  trembled. 

Under  this  signature  came  the  Marquis's  in  neat  little 
letters  :  Josejihe  Xavier  Hippolyte  de  la  Jolais-Farjolle  de 
Saint  Leu." 

"  Et  de  Deynum,"  said  the  Baron  aloud,  in  the  bitter 
scorn  of  his  heart.  And  then  he  coloured  scarlet,  for  regret 
of  the  unheeding  insult,  as  it  seemed,  to  M.  de  la  Jolais. 
Xo  one  sjjoke. 

TThen,  all  being  over,  the  Baron  van  Eexelaer  was  pre- 
paring to  slip  away,  M.  de  la  Jolais  called  him  back.  To 
Strum  the  Marquis  said  :  "  Wait  downstairs,  if  you  please. 
I  may  still  have  need  of  you."     Strum  bowed,  with  a  grin. 

The  Baron  put  down  his  hat  again,  greatly  flurried. 
Had  the  Belgian  perhaps  heard — through  that  villain  Strum 
— of  the  impending  bankruptcy  ?  Was  he  going  to  offer 
help?  If  so,  it  must  be  declined,  but  the  offer  would  ren- 
der easier  and  more  acceptable  the  Baron's  own  proposal, 
that  terrible  inevitable  proposal,  to  which  he  had  been 
screwing  up  his  courage  all  day  long. 

The  Marquis  waited  till  they  were  quite  alone — in  that 
quite-alone-ness  which  does  not  come  until  a  few  moments 
after  the  door  has  been  closed.  Then  he  said  :  "  Do  you 
know  any  cases,  Monsieur,  in  which  doctors  have  been  seri- 
ously mistaken  in  their  diagnosis  of  diseases  of  the  stom- 
ach ! " 


THE   MARQUIS'S   HEIRS.  159 

"  I  know  very  little,"  replied  Mynheer  Eexelaer,  "  about 
any  diseases  at  all."  "  He  wants  to  lead  up  to  something," 
he  thought,  "  I  wonder  how." 

"  You  will  know  some  day,"  said  the  Marquis  grimly, 
"  about  one  disease — your  own.  Then  you  do  not  think  you 
can  answer  my  question  affirmatively." 

"  I  fear  not." 

The  Marquis  had  been  suddenly  elated,  he  was  now  as 
unreasonably  cast  down.  Dying  men  do  not  only  catch  at 
straws ;  they  see  them  floating  where  there  is  merely  a  rip- 
ple on  the  w^ater. 

"  Then  forgive  me  for  retaining  you.  Let  me  thank  you 
once  more.  Monsieur,  now  we  are  alone,  for  your  great  kind- 
ness in  abandoning  to  me  your  beautiful  mansion  so  soon." 
He  closed  his  eyes. 

But  the  Baron  stayed  on.  "  Forgive  ?»f,"  he  began,  ''  if, 
before  I  leave  you,  I  venture — " 

But  the  Marquis,  who  never  consciously  interrupted  his 
equals,  had  not  even  heard  the  other  speak,  so  busy  was  he 
with  his  own  thoughts.  "  My  heirs  must  give  the  place  its 
due,"  he  said. 

The  Baron  was  much  disconcerted.  "  I  am  deeply  grate- 
ful, at  any  rate,"  he  replied,  "  that  it  will  remain  in  Catholic 
hands.  The  Vicomte  de  la  Jolais,  I  have  no  doubt,  when 
the  effervescence  of  youth  is  past,  will  make  an  excellent 
lord  of  Deynum." 

"  The  Vicomte  will  never  make  an  excellent  anything. 
Monsieur.  There  is  one  fault  for  which  I  know  no  pardon, 
it  is  disrespect  and  disobedience  to  the  head  of  the  house. 
For  these  I  have  disinherited  nearer  relations  than  the  Vi- 
comte." 

"  I  do  not  believe  in  disinheriting,"  said  the  Baron  gruff- 
ly. "  Family-money  is  family  property.  For  the  chance 
possessor  to  divert  it  to  strangers  is  a  crime." 

"  The  word  is  a  strong  one,"  protested  the  Marquis,  net- 
tled.    "  And  a  woman,  then,  who  disgraces  herself?" 


100  THE  GREATEIl  GLORY. 

"  Her  children  are  not  to  blame  for  that,"  answered 
the  Baron  obstinately.  "  And  if  the  woman  be  the 
God-appointed  heiress,  then  that  woman  in  God's  name. 
Never  a  stranger.  Xot  as  long  as  the  blood-claim  is 
there." 

"  Tiens,  Madame  Cochonnard ! "  said  the  Marquis. 
"  Well,  perhajos  you  are  right,  although  it  is  you — permit 
me  to  say  so.  Monsieur — who  have  just  resolutely  excluded 
Count  Eexelaer  fi'om  Dej'num." 

The  other's  face  grew  purple.  "  There  is  no  blood-claim 
there,''''  he  said  vehemently.  "  Xever  now — thank  Heaven 
— shall  Count  Eexelaer  have  any  connection  with  Dey- 
num." 

Monsieur  de  la  Jolais  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  speaker's 
excited  face.  "  I  am  in  doubt  what  to  do,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  Advise  me.  The  poor  are  one's  relations,  say  the  preach- 
ers.    Why  not  leave  one's  money  to  them  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  good  Catholic,"  replied  the  Baron,  unhesitat- 
ingly, "  but  I  would  not  rob  those  of  my  own  house  to  buy 
a  mansion  for  myself  in  heaven." 

"  Well,  I  daresay  you  are  right,  though  it  is  strange  that 
you  should  be  the  man  to  give  me  this  advice.  Under  all 
circumstances  you  think  the  natural  law  should  take  its 
course  ?  So  be  it.  Making  wills  is  a  nuisance ;  I  have 
always  avoided  it.  I  fancy  it  attracts  death.  Good- 
night." 

The  Baron  retained  the  door-handle  in  his  hand,  awk- 
wardly. "  There  is  still  one  thing,"  he  stammered.  "  One 
moment,  Monsieur  de  la  Jolais.  I — I  find  there  are  a  num- 
ber of  articles — plate  and  so  on — and — and  jjictures,  ex- 
cluded as  private  property,  for  which  I  should  have  no  use 
on  my  travels.  Some  of  the  objects,  and  portraits  are  very 
valuable — "     He  hesitated. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  mon  cher  Baron,"  said  the 
Marquis  stiffly.  "  I  wish  you  had  mentioned  the  subject 
sooner.     Plate  marked  with  jour  crest,  or  family-portraits, 


THE  MARQUIS'S  HEIRS.  161 

1  should  hardly  require.     But  we  might  see  later  on.    Good- 
night, cher  Baron ;  I  am  very  tired." 

He  rang  for  his  valet  as  soon  as  the  Baron  had  departed. 
"  Send  that  Notary  away,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  require  him. 
I  have  changed  my  mind." 


CHAPTER  XXL 

J'OSE  ! 

The  results  of  the  unusual  fatigue  the  Marquis  had  un- 
dergone soon  made  themselves  felt.  After  a  short  and  rest- 
less slumber  he  awoke  in  an  agony  of  suffering.  It  was 
eleven  o'clock.  He  called  for  Antoine  and  demanded  mor- 
phia. The  drug  was  given  him,  but,  for  the  first  time,  it 
seemed  entire!}'  to  miss  its  effect.  A  paroxysm  of  mingled 
passion  and  despair  seized  hold  of  him  and  shook  him. 
Doubtless  there  was  something  wrong  with  the  solution. 
He  must  have  it  seen  to.  He  must  have  a  different  opiate. 
He  must  have  a  doctor.  Till  now  he  had  resolutely  refused 
to  call  in  the  little  practitioner  from  Eollingen. 

A  messenger  was  immediately  dispatched  with  a  country- 
chaise.  Then  followed  a  horrible  hour  of  anxiety  and  fruit- 
less activity  for  the  valet,  the  sister,  all  the  peojDle  of  the 
inn — a  ceaseless  hurrying  to  and  fro,  and  Avhispering,  and 
preparing  of  various  things  that  were  Aainly  passed  from 
hand  to  hand.  The  patient  lay  among  his  pillows  and 
moaned. 

At  last  the  doctor  came.  They  had  hoped  everything 
from  him  ;  he  could  do  nothing.  The  quality  of  his  morphia 
was  inferior  to  that  of  the  Marquis's.  He  stood  irresolute 
by  the  bedside.  The  sick  man  motioned  him  nearer.  "  Go 
out  of  the  room,  you  others  !  "  cried  the  Marquis.     "  Go  !  " 

Then,  turning  to  the  doctor  : 

"  This  is  cancer,"  he  said. 

The  doctor  nodded  and  replied  in  a  low  voice.  "  So  I 
feared."     He  was  a  kind-hearted  man. 


J'OSE!  163 

"  I  have  had  these  attacks  of  late.  How  long  will  they 
last?" 

"  Ah,  Monsieur,  it  is  impossible  to  say.     They  may — " 

"  J3o  not  lie  to  me.     The  case  is  absolutely  hopeless." 

The  doctor  looked  down  at  his  boots. 

"  Absolutely  hopeless,"  repeated  the  invalid,  with  a  ring 
of  hope  and  the  faintest  interrogation  in  his  voice.  He 
sat  up,  clutching  at  his  breast.  "  Answer  me.  You  need 
not  answer.  I  see  it  in  your  face.  I  have  known  it  for  a 
week,  for  centuries.     Absolutely  hopeless."    He  fell  back. 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  began  the  doctor  in  that  terrible, 
encouraging  doctor's  voice,  "  you  have  still  many  months 
before  you.     It  is  impossible  to  say  what  may  occur." 

"  A  year  ?  "  gasped  the  patient. 

"  Oh,  most  certainly  a  year,  I  should  say.  Very  prob- 
ably more." 

"  And  this  pain?     It  will  increase?  " 

"  You  must  not  think  too  much  of  the  future.  For  the 
moment — " 

"  Thank  you,"  burst  out  the  sick  man,  with  sudden 
strength.  "  Go  !  Thank  you  !  Antoine  !  Where  is  that 
scoundrel,  Antoine?"  He  struck  his  hand-bell,  till  it 
broke  under  his  hand.  The  servant  came  running  in. 
"  Get  me  paper  and  pen  and  ink.  The  quicker  the  better. 
Farewell,  doctor ;  my  servant  will  pay  you.  I  am  better. 
The  pain  is  gone.  I  do  not  feel  it.  The  paper,  you  block- 
head !  In  the  dressing-case.  Be  quick."  He  lay  back  and 
wrote  a  few  rapid  words.  "  I  liave  never  done  it  before," 
he  said  to  Antoine  when  he  had  finished,  "  but  I  daresay  it 
is  right  like  that.  You  can  sign  your  name  underneath :  I 
suppose  somebody  must  witness  it.  It  is  valid,  I  know  it  is 
valid.  There,  I  have  done  my  share  of  the  business,  and  the 
good  God  must  do  His." 

The  thing  was  done.  In  the  half-light  of  the  shaded 
lamp  the  signatures  were  appended.  The  Marquis  handed 
tlic  paper  to  Antoine.  "  Take  good  care  of  it,"  he  said. 
12 


104:  THE   GREATER   GLORY. 

"  And  now,  remember,  I  died  of  pneumonia.  Swear  on  the 
little  image.     AVhercisit?     Swear." 

In  the  stillness  of  that  strange  sick-chamber  Antoine 
swore,  trembling,  the  oath  required  of  him. 

"  That  is  right,"  said  the  Marquis.  "  You  can  leave  me. 
Go  downstairs.     I  am  going  to  sleep." 

He  closed  his  eyes  but,  as  soon  as  he  was  alone,  he  again 
opened  them  wide.  He  stared  vaguely,  into  the  black  dis- 
tance. 

"  Peut-etre,"  he  said  aloud. 

Then  he  got  up  slowly,  out  of  bed.  It  was  true,  as  he 
had  said,  that  he  felt  no  j^ain  for  the  moment.  But  he  was 
so  weak  that  he  had  to  drag  himself  along  the  floor.  He 
Avas  old,  and  white-haired,  and  very  weary.  As  he  labori- 
ously jDUshed  along,  he  struck  his  arm  against  a  shaky  little 
table.  The  costly  bouillon-cup  upon  it  fell  to  the  ground 
Avith  a  crash.     "  Aha,"  he  said. 

He  dragged  himself  towards  a  black  leather-bag  which 
lay  in  a  corner.  This  he  opened  and  from  its  recesses  he 
drew  a  small  velvet  case.  Out  of  the  case  he  extracted  a 
toy  revolver,  ivory  inlaid,  and,  placing  the  weapon  against 
his  left  temple,  he  drew  the  trigger. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

THE    HOME   OF    POESY. 

A  LARGE  lionse  on  a  grim  canal — a  number  of  flat,  un- 
interesting windows  in  a  flat,  uninteresting  fa9ade.  A  low 
front-door,  with  a  heavy  greystone  coping,  and  on  each 
side,  along  the  narrow  "  stoep,"  a  row  of  stumpy  stone  jiosts, 
connected  by  iron  chains.  The  rest  of  it  a  great  daub  of 
dirty  orange  plaster,  without  any  excrescence  or  salient 
feature,  except  just  one  little  rusty  spy-glass  sticking  out 
on  the  basement  floor — the  whole  building  like  a  meaning- 
less, rich  man's  face,  in  its  ugly  and  insolent  self-con- 
tent, comfortably  dull.  Young  Reinout's  home  at  the 
Hague. 

And  opposite,  and  on  both  sides  of  it,  similar  dwellings,  of 
darker  colour,  flat  and  grey,  under  the  lowering  sky  and  the 
general  gloom  and  primness,  with  the  foul  canal  asleep  in 
the  middle  of  the  grass-grown  street.  A  grand  house  in  a 
grand  neighbourhood. 

Count  Hilarius  van  Rexelaer  drove  up  to  his  own  door 
in  the  neatest  of  little  broughams  and  entered  hurriedly. 
His  whole  manner  betrayed  anxiety,  but,  then,  as  we  have 
seen,  he  had  an  irritable  way  about  him  and  a  liabitual 
nervous  twitch  of  the  eyes.  He  was  a  man  harassed  by 
many  things,  who  took  life  restlessly. 

He  passed  through  the  low  entrance-hall  with  its  damp 
marble  floor  and  ran  upstairs  to  a  comparatively  brighter 
])art  of  the  house.  He  looked  into  his  wife's  boudoir;  it 
v\'as  empty,  but  sounds   to  wliich  lie  was  well  accustomed 


1(36  "I'lll^   GKEATER  GLOKV. 

were  issuing  from  tlie  conservatory  beyond.     A  sweet  voice 
was  shakily  crooning  some  French  words  : 

"  D'uii  seal  regard  il  m'a  tuee 
Car  ce  regard  resta  le  seul." 

The  singing  stopped  at  the  sound  of  the  opening  door. 
A  copper-coloured  mulatto  woman,  in  iridescent  drapery, 
rose  lip  from  the  floor  and  made  obeisance,  as  her  master 
entered.  The  Countess  Eexelaer  lifted  a  slow  head  from 
her  divan  :  "  Ah,  mon  ami !  Bonjour  !  "  she  said,  and  let  it 
fall  again. 

"  It  is  most  vexatious,"  began  the  Count,  spitting  his 
words,  as  the  French  inelegantly  but  aptly  put  it.  "  There 
is  nothing  but  worry.  I  can't  stand  the  strain.  I  shall 
have  to  resign."  He  stopped,  and  scowled  at  the  waiting- 
woman. 

"  Laissa,"  said  the  Countess  languidly,  "  fetch  me  a  glass 
of  Cape-wine  and  a  biscuit — "  and  as  soon  as  the  mulatto 
had  crept  noiselessly  away — "  It  is  no  use,  my  dear  Rexelaer : 
I  tell  her  everything  you  tell  me." 

The  husband  pushed  aside  a  green  parrot  which  had 
slipped  from  its  perch  on  to  a  low  chair  by  the  couch,  and 
having  thus  freed  a  seat  for  himself,  he  sat  down,  unheed- 
ful  of  the  disturbed  favourite's  flutter  and  fuss.  "  Come 
here,  Eollo.  Poor  Rollo.  Pretty  Rollo,"  interposed  the 
lady.  "  Oh,  bother,  listen  to  me,  Margot,"  said  the  Count. 
"When  he  called  her  "  Margot,"  she  knew  that  he  was 
either  very  much  pleased  or  very  much  put  out.  She  her- 
self had  officially  decreed,  on  becoming  a  Countess,  that 
her  name  should  henceforth  be  Margherita.  "  Pearl,  for 
you,  if  you  like,  Hilarius."  He  had  long  ago  left  off  call- 
ing her  "  Pearl." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  she  asked  faintly.  "  You  must  not 
tire  me  to-day.     The  damp  has  given  me  my  headache." 

Said  Count  Hilarius  solemnly :  "  The  King  had  a  bad 
egg  for  breakfast  this  morning." 


THE   HOME  OF   POESY.  167 

The  Countess  laughed,  but  indolently,  as  one  who  has 
more  serious  things  to  occupy  her  thoughts. 

"  You  laugh!  "  cried  the  Count  in  sudden  wrath,  "be- 
cause you  do  not  understand.  By  Heaven,  it  is  no  laugh- 
ing matter.  Who  is  responsible  for  the  eggs  ?  I.  If  it 
happens  again,  I  shall  resign." 

"  Nonsense,"  she  said,  sitting  up,  alert  and  sharp. 

"  Ah,  that  brings  you  round,  does  it  ?  I  tell  you  my 
nerves  can't  stand  the  strain.  This  is  the  third  time  since 
Tuesday  week.  The  eggs  are  new-laid,  of  course,  but  some 
wretched  little  red  mess  gets  inside  them.  I  suppose  it's 
the  food.  Xone  of  the  under-people  can  explain,  and  his 
Majesty  is  furious — rightly — and  says  it  never  occuri'ed  be- 
fore.    And  I  only  three  weeks  in  office  !  " 

"  It  must  not  occur  again,"  said  Margherita,  "  not  if 
we  have  to  lay  the  eggs  ourselves." 

"  To  have  chickens  here,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  mean  that.  I  do  not  believe  the  poor  ani- 
mals are  to  blame.  It  is  the  result  of  a  conspiracy.  You 
say  yourself  that  all  the  Court  people  are  against  you,  be- 
cause they  wanted  your  place  for  the  Chamberlain's  cousin. 
Be  sure  that  an  enemy  inserts  into  the  eggs  the  unjileasant- 
nesses  which  his  Majesty  finds  there." 

"You  think  so?"  he  said  doubtfully. 

"I  am  sure  of  it.  We  can  keep  the  fowl  here  in  the 
conservatory,  if  needs  must,  and  Laissa  can  feed  them."  She 
was  sufficiently  animated  now. 

"  True,"  said  the  Count,  rising,  "  you  could  easily  add 
them  to  the  menagerie.  But,  perhaps  it  were  better  to 
abandon  the  whole  thing.  These  Court  cliques  are  terri- 
ble in  their  dead-set  against  a  new-comer.  They  are  mer- 
ciless." 

"What?"  cried  the  Countess,  leaning  on  one  brown, 
jeweled  arm.  Then  she  added  in  softest  scorn :  "  Cow- 
ard ! " 

"  Oh  yes,  it  is  easy  enough  for  you  to  speak.    You  haven't 


leg  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

got  to  face  them !  You  simply  stop  at  home  and  say  : 
"  Make  a  great  lady  of  me ! " 

"  Already  ?  "  she  went  on.  "  Three  weeks  of  failure 
after  six  years  of  struggle.  Coward,  Coward,  Coward !  " 
She  leaped  to  her  feet  with  the  last  words,  her  eyes  flash- 
ing. "  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  am  going  to  be  a  great  lady.  I 
have  paid  for  it.  And  I  again  say :  Go  and  make  a  great 
lady  of  me.  Go  !  "  Then,  suddenly,  she  laughed,  and  threw 
herself  back  on  the  sofa.  "  You  should  have  studied  poul- 
try-fancying in  your  youth,  my  lord  Comptroller,"  she 
said.  "  We  must  get  Reinout  some  pigeons,  pretty  inno- 
cent things.     My  uncle  de  Cachenard — " 

"  Ah,  spare  me  your  uncle  de  Cachenard,"  he  said  an- 
grily, and  walked  from  the  room. 

The  Countess,  left  alone,  arranged  the  coils  of  her  mag- 
nificent black  hair  and  smiled  to  her  Creole  face  in  the 
glass.  Then  she  looked  round  and  said,  "  Coo-ee,  Coo-ee," 
and  the  mulatto-woman  came  gliding  back. 

Count  Hilarius  had  not  been  wrong  in  speaking  of  the 
menagerie.  "  Aviary  "  would  perhaps  have  been  a  more 
accurate  term,  for  the  whole  place  was  in  a  flutter  of  exotic 
birds.  It  was  suffocatingly  hot,  an  unavoidable  concession 
to  the  animals  in  question,  and  not  an  unwilling  one  on  the 
part  of  their  mistress,  whose  natural  tastes  preferred  the 
sun  to  any  and  every  thing  in  creation  except  herself,  but 
awarded  the  third  place — a  long  way  below — to  a  blazing 
hot  fire.  "  A  good  stove,"  she  used  to  say,  "  is  like  a  hus- 
band— 9a  rechauffe.  But  the  sun  is  like  a  lover — 9a 
brule." 

She  had  built  out  this  large  glass  house  at  the  back  of 
her  dull  little  boudoir,  and  had  stocked  it  with  a  store  of 
greenery,  feathery  ferns  and  wide  palms  and  a  number  of 
prickly  tropical  plants.  She  had  orange-blossoms  in  it,  and 
a  mass  of  gardenias,  and  the  strong  perfume  of  these  starry 
flowers  mingled    very   perceptibly  with    the  odour   of   the 


THE   HOME   OF   POESY.  1(]9 

birds.  As  for  these,  a  whole  lot  of  them  lived  in  open 
cages  among  the  verdure,  a  bright-plumaged,  twittering, 
unmusical  rainbow  of  colours — "  nature's  jewels,"  said  the 
Countess,  toying  with  the  diamonds  she  persistently  wore 
on  her  arm.  "  If  I  am  to  be  buried  alive,"  she  had  said, 
when  first  brought  to  the  house  in  the  Hague,  "at  least,  I 
will  have  a  hole  in  my  grave,  through  which  to  see  the  earth 
and  the  flowers."  She  lived  in  her  conservatory.  She  was 
always  cold,  and  she  used  to  repeat  with  an  unpleasing  grin, 
that  she  never  expected,  to  be  warm  again — on  earth. 

The  Countess  sipped  her  wine.  She  was  very  sensitive 
and  could  only  take  nourishment  at  irregular  hours.  And. 
her  digestion  was  a  weak  one ;  wholesome  food  disagreed 
with  it.  She  ate  sweetmeats  and  cakes  in  indefinite  quanti- 
ties out  of  boxes  and  bonbonnieres  which  were  always  left 
lying  about.  Often  the  various  animals  would  get  at  these 
receptacles,  and  then  would  ensue  much  brief  exultation 
and  subsequent  sorrow,  and  stains  on  the  oriental  carpets 
and  silk  hangings,  not  that  anybody  noticed  the  more  recent 
ones  among  the  many  of  earlier  date. 

The  copper-coloured  woman  crouched  down  at  a  little 
distaiice  from  her  mistress's  divan,  and  one  of  the  parrots, 
settling  down  on  her  shoulder,  began  screeching  "  Lai'ssa," 
which  name,  by-the-bye,  was  a  corruption  of  Eliza.  For 
the  mulatto's  mother,  an  exceedingly  vain  personage,  had 
declared  herself  and  her  daughter,  in  a  moment  of  presump- 
tion, to  be  of  English  extraction,  and  had  stuck  to  the  story 
ever  after  on  account  of  its  unreasonableness.  Black? 
There  were  many  Englishmen  born  black.  Satan  himself 
was  an  Englishman,  as  every  good  Catholic  in  Rio  could 
have  told  you. 

"  You  want  to  know,  I  suppose,"  said  the  Countess. 
"Eh?" 

"I?  But  no,  M'am  Rita.  Let  me  sing  you  your  song 
again,  and  you  can  go  to  sleep."  And  once  more  Laissa 
bcKan  rockiuff  herself  to  and  fro  and  inoaniuir : 


170  'i'lll-'   (-illEATHR   GLOKY. 

"  Sous  les  tilleuls  j'etais  couchee. 
II  a  passe  sous  les  tilleuls. 
D'un  seul  regard  il  m'a  tuee, 
Car  ce  regard  resta  le  seul." 

The  woman  crooned  tlie  words  over  and  over  without 
paying  any  attention  to  their  meaning,  while  her  mistress — 
who  was  the  author  of  their  being — lay  listening  with  half- 
closed  eyes  of  content. 

"The  idea  is  beautiful,"  said  the  Countess  at  last,  inter- 
rupting the  endless  chant,  "  but  the  execution  might  be  bet- 
ter. Rhymes  a,  a,  are  all  right,  but  not  rhymes  b,  b.  Do 
you  think,  Lai'ssa,  that '  tilleuls '  rhymes  with  '  seul '  ?  " 

"  Very  well  indeed,  M'am  Rita,"  replied  the  mulatto. 

"Ah,  you  always  say  'very  well  indeed,' but  that  does 
not  satisfy  my  literary  aspirations.  You  are  not  a  literary 
character,  Lai'ssa." 

"  Xo,  M'am  Rita,"  said  the  woman  submissively. 

"  Do  you  know,  you  stupid,  what  a  literary  character 
is?" 

" Xo,  my  jewel.     Is  it  something  bad?" 

"  It  is  the  grandest  thing  on  earth ;  it  is  an  angel.  Es- 
pecially when  it  is  a  genius.  I  often  think  that  I  should 
have  been  a  genius,  Lai'ssa,  had  I  not  been  a  woman." 

"  A  woman  is  a  very  good  thing  too,"  said  La'issa.  "  I 
daresay  men  like  the  women  best." 

"  Do  not  expose  your  boundless  ignorance,  even  to  me. 
Pass  me  the  rhyme-dictionary ;  Rollo  is  scratching  it. 
Xaughty  Rollo.  I  must  look  up  another  rhyme  for  '  seul.' 
Aieul.     How  would  that  do  ?  " 

"  •  Sous  les  tilleuls  il  m'a  passee 

Sous  les  tilleuls  de  mon  aieul.' " 

"  I  don't  care  for  tlie  repetition  of  the  same  sound, 
though  some  people  might  consider  it  musical.  Xo,  I  have 
it.  This  is  better,  and  has  a  delightfully  aristocratic 
ring: 


THE   HOME  OF   POESY.  171 

"  '  Dans  le  jardin  il  m'a  trouvee 

Dii  beau  chateau  de  mon  aieul, 
D'un  seul  regard  il  m'a  tuee 
Car  ce  regard  resta  ]e  seuL'  " 

"Sing  it,  Nursie;  let  me  hear  how  it  goes.  Ali  me, 
the  words  awaken  painful  memories.  A  castle  of  our 
fathers !  I  shall  never  forgive  the  Count  that  he  has  not 
been  able  to  procure  me  one." 

"  The  saints  will  help,  dearie,"  said  the  mulatto  sooth- 
ingly. 

"  For  shame,  how  often  must  I  tell  you  not  to  talk  of 
the  saints !  They  are  angry  with  me  for  turning  Prot- 
estant.    Let  sleeping  dogs  lie." 

"  Well,  then  we  must  try  the  cards,"  said  the  mulatto. 
"  Shall  I  lay  them  for  you,  my  pet,  while  you  eat  some 
chocolate-creams  ?  " 

"  Yes,  do,"  replied  the  Countess  cheerfully.  "  I  must 
compose  a  second  stanza  this  afternoon ;  my  head  is  too 
tired.  Give  me  the  box,  oif  the  watering-pot.  No,  no, 
Rollo.  Go  away.  Down,  Flora !  Ah,  there  is  a  capital 
conjunction — the  aces ! — the  aces  ! — turn  up  the  other  ace 
— that's  right !  Oh  you  dear,  good  LaTssa ! "  She  bent 
forward  over  the  cards,  a  chocolate-cream  in  her  hand. 
"  Something  fortunate  is  going  to  happen  !  Delightful !  " 
And  she  unthinkingly  clapped  her  hands  and  smashed  the 
sweetie. 

"  Something  fortunate  is  going  to  happen,"  repeated  the 
mulatto  gravely,  as  she  continued  to  spread  the  cards  on 
the  Turkish  carpet  before  her.  "  Great  riches — but  these 
you  do  not  want,  honey.     You  have  enough." 

"Never  enough,"  dissented  the  Countess  vehemently, 
pushing  her  hand  in  among  the  cards.  "  My  uncle  de 
Cachenard  was  a  rich  man  ;  I  hate  him  for  not  leaving  me 
everything." 

"  In  my  country,"  said  the  mulatto,  "  a  yard  of  cotton 
and  a  few  figs.     It  is  enough." 


][72  THE   GREATER    GLORV. 

"  Less  than  that,"  cried  ]\Iargherita  passionatel}'.  "  Xo 
cotton  at  all,  and  one  fig,  and  the  blazing  sunshine !  For 
the  animal  it  is  enough.  But  for  the  soul  within  me  a 
hundred  millions,  to  buy  splendor  and  power  and  great- 
ness !  I  want  rivers  of  diamonds,  oceans  of  diamonds. 
And  emeralds,  and  sapphires,  and  rubies  I "  She  stopped 
for  breath  and  bit  off  a  fragment  of  chocolate. 

"Yes,  diamonds  are  pretty  :  I  was  not  thinking  of  dia- 
monds," replied  the  waiting  woman,  still  continuing  her 
combinations.  "And  other  jewels;  you  shall  have  them, 
my  pretty  !  See,  here  comes  the  Queen  of  Diamonds  again. 
You  shall  have  a  beautiful  castle.  It  is  coming,  just  the 
kind  that  you  like." 

The  Countess  laughed.  "An  ancestral  home,"  she 
said,  "  ordered  in  from  the  bazar !  Xo,  my  good  Laissa, 
the  old  man  at  Deynum  says  '  no '  to  the  Queen  of  Dia- 
monds. It  is  impudent  of  him,  for  he  has  not  the  neces- 
sary money  himself,  and  should  make  room  for  his  betters. 
You  may  have  my  brooch  with  the  turquoises ;  I  shall  not 
wear  it  again." 

"  Thank  you,  child,"  replied  Laissa.  "  But,  for  me,  I 
believe  in  the  cards." 


CHAPTER   XXril. 

AJTD    OF    STATECRAFT. 

The  master  of  the  house  meanwhile,  in  his  library, 
stood  disconsolately  gazing  at  the  imitation  bindings  be- 
hind which  his  cigar-cases  reposed  in  security.  They  could 
afford  him  as  little  assistance  as  the  long  line  of  the  "  Tasch- 
enbuch  der  grilflichen  Hiiuser,"  or  even  the  encyclopedia. 
He  had  built  his  hopes  upon  the  latter,  and  had  vainly 
looked  out  a  couple  of  words,  Avinding  up  with  "  alimenta- 
tion." And  now  he  had  sent  round  his  man  to  the  book- 
seller's. 

Little  things  always  troubled  him  largely,  but  this,  as  he 
well  knew,  was  not  a  little  thing.  It  is  a  merciful  dispen- 
sation that,  in  the  moment  of  achievement,  we  first  begin  to 
realize  the  difficulties  which  await  success.  Count  Rexe- 
laer,  on  his  smiling  entry  into  Paradise,  found  all  Paradise 
smiling  back  hostility.  You  think  his  Paradise  ridiculous ! 
That  is,  because  it  is  not  yours.  But  in  that  case,  once 
more,  put  down  this  book.     You  cannot  understand  it. 

"  All  the  world  is  against  me,"  said  Count  Rexelaer  bit- 
terly. He  was  not  exaggerating.  He  knew  no  other  world 
than  his  little  own.  Nor  does  any  of  us,  talk  how  we  will. 
And  if  his  world  looks  very  small  to  yon,  that  is,  perhaps, 
because  you  stand  so  far  below  it. 

From  his  youth  upwards  he  had  laid  himself  out  to 
"  serve  his  King,"  set  aside  for  that  service  as  much  as  was 
ever  Levite  in  a  worthier  temple,  and  in  the  due  perfection 
of  that  service  he  had  found  his  glorvand  crown — coronet — 


174  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

of  rejoicing.  His  fatliev,  a  nobleman  of  William  the  First's 
easy  creation  (1832  :  llilarins,  therefore,  had  not  been  born 
in  the  purple),  had  struggled  and  schemed  and  fought  him- 
self into  the  front  rank  only  to  fall  out  of  it  again  into  the 
background  of  discontent  through  some  caprice  of  a  mon- 
arch's disfavour.  There  had  been  several  children  and  a 
small  fortune.  Hilarius,  the  eldest,  had  behaved  admirably, 
as  soon  as  he  was  old  enough  to  understand.  Excellent 
financier  that  he  was,  he  had  avoided  the  common  fallacy 
that  all  expenditure  must  necessarily  be  regulated  by  actual 
assets,  and  had  shown  the  good  sense  to  keep  up  his  posi- 
tion, like  a  European  state,  by  borrowing  money  which  a 
subsequent  combination  must  pay.  It  would  have  been 
fatal,  as  he  said,  to  "  drop  out,"  a  mistake  which  so  many 
have  committed  under  the  influence  of  temporary  misfor- 
tune. "  We  are  too  recent  to  recede,"  he  told  his  parents 
when  they  complained  of  his  bills.  "  If  people  are  saying 
that  we  are  poor,  mamma,  you  should  order  in  a  lot  of  fine 
new  clothes."  The  old  lady  Avould  certainly  have  liked  to 
do  so — for  the  sake  of  the  fine  new  clothes — but  she  lacked 
her  son's  pluck.  Her  father  had  been  a  draper ;  she  had 
bourgeois  ideas  of  honesty. 

It  must  be  admitted,  on  the  other  hand,  that  Hilarius 
never  wasted  a  penny  on  himself.  What  he  spent  he  spent 
for  his  object.  And  he  systematized  both  his  expenditure 
and  his  debts. 

When  he  left  the  University,  where  he  had  lived  "  cor- 
rectly," Hilarius  had  obtained  a  small  post  in  the  diplomatic 
service — it  was  convenient  to  him,  for  various  reasons,  to 
remove  himself  from  his  surroundings  at  the  Hague.  He 
did  his  work  well  for  a  great  many  years,  which  means  that 
he  did  nothing,  decently,  and  with  the  necessary  self-re- 
spect ;  in  the  meantime  his  brother  married  at  home,  fairly 
well,  and  his  sister  settled  down  into  respectable  old-maid- 
ism,  and  his  mother  (who  had  been  a  draper's  daughter) 
died,  and  things  began  to  look  brighter  for  the  family. 


AND   OF  STATECRAFT.  175 

Then  Count  Hilarius's  reward  came  at  last.  It  was  not  a 
First  Prize,  and  he  felt  rather  inclined  to  cavil  at  its  second- 
rateness  ;  still  it  was  better  than  the  empty  Certificate  of 
Merit,  with  which  he  had  been  hitherto  obliged  to  content 
his  meritorious  self.  He  was  attached  to  the  Dutch  Lega- 
tion at  Rio — no  more — he  was  getting  on  for  five  and  thirty 
already,  and  his  light  hair  was  beginning  to  thin  at  the  top, 
when  little  Rita  de  Cachenard — Margot  Magot,  as  she  was 
called  in  the  French  colony — old  Croesus  Cachenard's  niece 
and  presumable  heiress,  fell  franctically  in  love  with  him. 
She  was  sixteen,  and  very  handsome,  not  an  easy  character 
to  read,  for,  although  she  was  naturally  an  object  of  inter- 
est, opinion  remained  divided  about,  not  her  charms  (they 
were  indisputable),  but  her  virtues.  According  to  some  she 
was  passionate  but  pure  ;  according  to  others  she  was  cold, 
and  cool,  as  marble.  She  wrote  verses  to  the  object  of  her 
adoration,  and  blushed  after  having  played  them  into  his 
hands.  There  seems  no  great  harm  in  that.  She  was  six- 
teen, and  her  eyes  were  large  and  black.  Perhaps  her  soul 
was  as  large,  though  not  as  black,  as  they.  She  wanted  to 
marry  him  ;  that  was  all.  She  had  his  willing  consent,  but 
perhaps  she  would  have  tried  to  do  it  without. 

Her  uncle  was  delighted  that  his  little  Margot  should  be 
a  Countess.  He  was  a  fat  old  Frenchman  and  a  republican. 
It  is  perfectly  impossible  to  set  down  here  in  what  manner 
he  had  amassed  his  very  considerable  fortune.  Suffice  it  to 
say  that  the  blackest  brand  of  blackguardism  was  indelibly 
stamped  upon  every  loathsome  ducat  which  the  young 
Countess  Rexelaer  poured  into  the  hollow  exchequer  of  the 
noble  Dutch  family.  She  poured  in  a  good  many.  And 
yet  more  followed  when,  shortly  after,  the  old  rascal  oblig- 
ingly retired  from  the  scene  of  his  compromising  successes. 
But  he  left  his  niece  just  one  half  of  that  whole  she  had  ex- 
pected ;  the  other  half  he  squandered  and  scattered  among 
a  lot  of  obscure  individuals  wliom  nobody  hud  ever  heard  of 
before.     Fortunately  their  name  was  in  no  case  de  Cache- 


170  'i'UK   GREATER   GLORY. 

Hard.  Nor,  for  the  mutter  of  that,  was  the  old  man's  ;  tlie 
disagreeable  people  who  remember  what  they  ought  to  have 
forgotten,  could  have  given  you  an  earlier  and  less  elegant 
version.  As  for  the  "  de,"  the  "  merchant,"  good  patriot 
and  republican  though  he  was,  had  been  obliged  to  forfeit 
his  nationality  and  pay  down  no  less  than  twenty  pounds  to 
obtain  it. 

Count  van  Uexelaer  returned  to  Holland  with  his  wife 
and  her  money-bags,  and  her  tropical  animals,  habits,  plants 
and  waiting-woman.  He  made  a  point  of  remembering  the 
money-bags — conscientiously — and  they  got  on  very  well  to- 
gether. He  also  made  a  point  of  reminding  his  relations  of 
these  same  money-bags,  and  the  relations  made  a  point  of 
reminding  everybody  else  and  of  doubling,  in  conversation, 
the  number,  size  and  weight  of  said  money-bags.  The  sub- 
ject was  thus  treated  with  mutual  goodwill,  and  the  family 
behaved  admirably.  Mevrouw  van  Rexelaer-Borck,  Hila- 
rius's  brother's  wife,  smiled  sweetly  when  one  of  "  the  black 
thing's  "  birds  went  messing  over  her  new  silk  dress.  But 
then,  they  were  so  intensely  relieved  to  find  that  the  new 
member  of  the  family  was  "  not  actually  black,  you  know, 
though  we  called  her  so  in  fun  ;  she  is  dark,  and  really 
quite  handsome.  Like  a  Spaniard."  This  much  Mevrouw 
Eexelaer  confided  to  her  mother,  the  old  Baroness  Borck,  a 
connection  of  the  lord  of  Eollingen.  To  her  intimate  friends 
she  said  :  "  My  brother-in-law's  young  wife  comes  of  a  no- 
ble French  family,  '  de  Cachenard.'  He  met  her  in  diplo- 
matic circles  at  Petropolis.  Our  only  objection  would  be 
the  great  difference  of  age  (he  is  double  hers),  but,  after  all, 
that  is  their  look-out.  She  is  a  most  charming  thing.  Just 
a  little — how  shall  I  call  it  ? — exotic.  Her  parents  have 
kept  her  out  there  too  long,  perhaps,  as  a  queen  among 
slaves,  you  know.  Like  the  children  of  Steelenaar,  our  own 
Indian  Governor-General." 

"  Was  the  father  French  minister  there  ? "  asked  a 
friend. 


AND   OF  STATECRAFT.  177 

"  Yes — uo,"  replied  Mevrouw  van  Rexelaer  quickly,  re- 
membering, at  the  last  moment,  the  inconvenience  of 
printed  lists.  "  Not  minister,  you  know.  But  second-best. 
What  is  it  they  call  it?  A  Councillor  of  the  Embassy,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"  Ah  yes.     Like  the  Comte  de  Hautlieu." 

"  Exactly  so,"  rejoined  Mevrouw  van  Eexelaer,  "  like  the 
Comte  de  Hautlieu." 

In  the  meantime  no  one  took  the  trouble  to  inquire 
what  were  the  sentiments  of  the  poor  girl  herself.  The 
creature  was  now  Countess  van  Rexelaer.  What  more  could 
she  want  ? 

But,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  the  creature  had  actually 
had  the  impudence  to  want  more.  She  had  wanted  love — 
stormy,  passionate  adoration  of  the  "  kill-your-neighbour- 
and-kiss-your-neighbour's-wife "  kind.  Something  grand, 
terrific,  imposing — love  with  a  capital  L.  Not  affection  ; 
poor  thing  !  she  knew  nothing  of  affection.  That  is  a  plant 
which  must  be  trained  in  the  home-garden,  while  love 
springs  up  in  the  wastes.  Father  she  had  never  known ; 
her  mother  she  had  lost  at  the  age  of  five,  which  was  a  mis- 
fortune, the  mother,  with  all  her  vagaries,  having  been  born 
and  bred  a  gentlewoman.  Margherita  had  grown  up  at 
hap-hazard,  in  a  lazy,  sunlit  mansion  among  a  crowd  of 
obsequious,  villainous  slaves  and  mongrels  who  pandered  to 
her  early  faults,  lest  their  own  vices  should  be  checked. 
She  had  been  taught  nothing,  except  French  and  Portuguese 
— and  dancing  and  riding  and  fencing,  and  playing  out  of 
tune  on  the  guitar.  Even  these  accomplishments  she  had 
chiefly  taught  herself.  She  could  fence  splendidly,  ami  that 
was  about  all. 

It  is  to  be  appreciated  in  her,  then,  that  she  read  such 
books  as  she  could  lay  hold  of — trashy  novels.  And  one 
day,  utterly  bored  by  the  emptiness  of  her  existence,  she 
had  demanded  a  "professor  of  French  literature."  Old 
Cachenard,  who  held  that  woman's  only  mission  was  to  be 


178  I^IIK   GREATER    GLORY. 

fair,  foud,  foolish  uiul,  possibly,  foul — there  are  many  such 
men :  God  forgive  them  ! — had  vainly  tried  to  dissuade  his 
uiece.  Margherita  liked  her  uncle  (in  all  justice  to  her  it 
must  be  confessed  that  she  had  no  inkling  till  after  his 
death  how  he  had  gotten  his  money),  but  she  hated  him 
with  a  fierce  hate  when  he  contradicted  her,  which  he  very 
rarely  did.  A  Frenchman  was  procured  who  read  Musset 
with  her — "  Kolla  " — and  Victor  Hugo — "  Le  Roi  s'amuse," 
and  she  felt  that  she  loved  literature  and  took  to  devouring 
more  novels,  with  a  preference  for  the  days  of  chivalry,  and 
she  wanted  a  knight  to  lift  up  her  glove  and  kiss  it  (she 
had  very  small  hands)  and  make  noble  speeches  to  her, 
beautiful,  sentimental  speeches — not  crack  disgusting  jokes, 
like  uncle  Cachenard. 

So,  when  she  was  sixteen  years  old,  she  fell  head  over 
ears  in  love  with  Count  van  Eexelaer.  He  was  a  noble  of 
exalted  rank,  a  descendant  of  a  long  line  of  Knights  and 
Crusaders,  a  son  of  Kings.  His  very  name  declared  it. 
Rex  Hilarius — she  called  it  Rex  Ilario — he  had  told  her 
about  it  (he  was  rather  fond  of  telling) ;  this  King  Hilarius, 
his  great  grandfather,  had  ruled  over  a  mighty  people  long 
before  South  America  existed  !  He  was  greater  than  the 
Emperor.  He  was  stately  and  splendid  {i.  e.  tight-buttoned 
and  thin) ;  and  his  bearing  was  noble  and  knightly  [i.  e.  he 
bowed  very  low  when  he  met  her).  She  loved  him,  im- 
mensely, like  an  ocean.  She  would  have  liked  him  to  die 
for  her,  but  not  the  other  way,  please.  And  she  threw  her- 
self at  his  feet,  and  he  picked  her  up,  very  politely,  and 
they  were  married.  And  not  only  had  he  no  desire  to  die 
for  her,  but  he  was  not  even  anxious  to  live  for  her,  nor 
with  her,  more  than  necessary,  after  a  time. 

When  the  Countess  realized  that  one  cannot  always  have 
what  one  wants — at  least,  not  in  our  northern  hemisphere — 
she  first  had  a  bad  time  of  it,  violently  bad  but  brief,  and 
then  she  felt  fairly  comfortable.  She  made  up  her  mind  to 
want  a  lot  more  things,  and  to  get  them,  so,  resigning  the 


AND   OF   STATECRAFT.  I79 

unattainable,  she  cultivated  her  caprices.  She  fortunately 
took  a  liking  to  her  little  boy,  who  was  handsome.  Phys- 
ically there  were  seventeen  years  between  them ;  psychically 
less.  And  she  interested  herself,  from  a  lazy  distance,  in  her 
husband's  climb  to  that  starry  canopy  which  shone  forth  as 
his  blue  and  vaulted  heaven.  Her  position,  unfortunately, 
debarred  her  from  the  poetic  greatness  she  had  been  born 
to.  Ah,  what  an  artist  was  lost !  But  she  cheered  her 
solitude  with  song,  while  waiting  for  her  husband  to  make 
a  grande  dame  of  her.  It  was  very  cold  and  bleak  in  Hol- 
land. But  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  be  a  grande  dame. 
Mevrouw  van  Eexelaer-Borck  kissed  her. 

And  her  husband  worked  for  two.  He  was  a  quiet 
faber  sum  fortuncB,  whose  weak  point  was  want  of  nerve  at 
a  crisis,  and  whose  strong  point  was  want  of  feeling.  He 
plodded  up  slowly,  but  with  an  indomitable  resolve  never  to 
slide  back.  It  was  hard  work  for  him  at  first.  He  was  not 
a  favourite,  his  father's  disgrace  still  clung  about  the  fam- 
ily ;  he  had  none  of  those  stilts  and  stays  which  are  such  a 
help  in  climbing.  His  sister-in-law,  Mevrouw  Rexelaer- 
Borck,  however,  was  a  host  in  herself.  She  had  brought 
excellent  connections  into  the  family,  almost  a  costlier  treas- 
ure than  gold.  And  she  had  managed,  by  one  of  her  won- 
derful strokes  of  luck,  to  acquire  for  her  husband  an  extra 
territorial  title  attached  to  a  few  acres  of  heath,  dirt-cheap. 
Frederik  van  Rexelaer  was  Rexelaer  van  Altena.  Ililarius 
— the  head  of  the  family,  and,  as  such,  the  Count — was  all 
the  more  anxious  to  be  Rexelaer  of  something. 

Gradually  he  prospered.  His  great  policy  was  never 
to  feel  kicked.  And  by  dint  of  this  he  sidled  past  better 
people  and  even  pushed  in  front  of  more  powerful  ones. 
The  High  and  Mighty  began  to  remember  that  his  father 
had  been  one  of  them ;  for  years  they  had  only  remembered 
to  forget.  He  was  admitted  into  the  Koyal  Household  be- 
fore he  was  fifty.  There  was  not  a  part  of  his  body  which 
was  not  blue  from  ill-treatment,  there  was  not  a  corner  of 
13 


ISO  THE  GREATER   GLORY. 

his  soul  which  was  not  black  with  lying  and  licking — nn- 
charitableness,  immanliness,  and  uncleanuess, — but  he  was 
a  Groat  Man  at  last.  Of  course  he  was  an  exception ;  it  is 
said  these  are  apt  to  prove  the  rule. 

During  three  bright  weeks  he  had  borne  his  new-culled 
honours,  as  a  maiden  bears  her  betrothal- wreath.  Bright, 
truly,  but  Avith  flashes  of  lightning,  amid  the  distant  roll  of 
thunder.  And  often  it  wants  a  little  climbing  to  realize 
the  unclimbed  heights  above. 

He  paced  his  study-floor  with  gloomy  eyebrows.  It  was 
almost  a  relief  when  a  servant  knocked,  and  brought  the 
news  that  a  man  was  waiting  to  see  him. 

"  What  sort  of  a  man  ?  " 

"  A  common  man,"  replied  the  well-drilled  domes- 
tic, with  thankful  consciousness  that  he  was  not  one  of 
these. 

Count  Rexelaer  walked  out  into  tlie  hall. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

The  individual  thus  addressed  seemed  to  cower  away 
into  the  very  ground.  "  I  am  a  poor  man,"  he  said.  "  A 
humble  man,  Heer  Count.  Have  pity  on  a  father  of  four 
little  children.  I  have  been  turned  away  from  the  service 
of  the  palace.  I  was  clerk  there,  for  twenty  years  I  have 
kept  the  kitchen  accounts.  I  earned  nine  florins  a  week. 
It  isn't  much,  but  it  was  always  something.  And  I 
have  always  been  honest.  Highborn  Heer  Count.  I 
have—" 

"  I  remember,"  interrupted  Count  Rexelaer  impatient- 
ly. "  You  were  discharged  a  fortnight  ago.  I  forget 
why." 

"  There  was  a  story.  Highborn  Heer,  about  a  kitch- 
enmaid.  There  was  not  a  word  of  truth  in  it,  I  swear 
before  God  in  Heaven ! " — he  lifted  a  lean  hand  on  high 
— he  was  a  worn-looking  creature,  with  a  big  nose, 
the  only  big  thing  about  him,  and  bright  fever-fed 
eves. 


AND  OF  STATECRAFT.  ISl 

"And  what  was  the  girl's  name?"  queried  Count  Rexe- 
laer,  staring  at  the  ceiling. 

"  Dora  Droste,  Highly  Nobly  Born  Heer  Count." 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  Count,  still  staring  aloft.  "  I  re- 
member all  about  it  perfectly."  He  brought  his  eyes  down 
to  the  level  of  the  man's  face.  "  How  dare  you  come 
here  ? "  he  said  furiously.  "  You  were  turned  away  and 
you  richly  deserved  if.  We  shall  soon  teach  you,  and  such 
as  you,  what  to  expect." 

"  But  I  swear  I  am  innocent,"  replied  the  man 
in  earnest  tones.  "  A  father  of  four  children,  Heer 
Count." 

"  Just  so.     A  father  of  four  children." 

"  I  was  teaching  her  to  read,  in  my  free  time,  most 
noble  Heer  Count.  She  had  begged  me  to  teach  her  to 
read." 

Count  Rexelaer  smiled.  "  I  remember  all  about  the 
case,"  he  said.  "  You  may  feel  thankful  you  were  not  pros- 
ecuted. Get  out  of  the  house  this  moment.  Jan,  show 
this  person  out." 

"  Is  that  final?  "  asked  the  fellow. 

"  Absolutely  final."  Count  Rexelaer  retreated  to  his 
study-door. 

But  the  man  intercepted  him.  "  Count  Rexelaer,"  he 
said,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "you'i-e  playing  a  bold  game.  It 
won't  do." 

The  Count  drew  back.  "  You  are  mad,"  he  said. 
«  Jan ! " 

"  Unhand  me,"  cried  the  fellow,  bursting  out  violently. 
"  ISTo  one  dare  to  touch  me  !  You — you  !  it  is  villains  like 
you  who  make  socialists,  revolutionists,  murderers !  Oh 
you  blackguard !  But  I  swear  that  as  sure  as  my  name  is 
Wouter  Wonnema — " 

Count  Rexelaer  closed  his  study  door. 

"  Here,  get  out  of  this  !  "  said  the  man-servant.  "  What 
do  you  mean  by  pitching  into  master  like  that?      If  he 


182  'I'l'K   GREATER  GLORY. 

were  to  give  me  uotice  to-morrow,  I  should  simply  griu 
and  go." 

The  other  looked  as  if  he  were  about  to  launch  into  a 
long  explanation ;  then  he  thought  better  of  it,  and  rapidly 
stumbled  downstairs,  cursing  and  threatening. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A    WINDOAV   OPENS. 

Reinout,  turning  the  far  corner  of  the  quiet  street  on 
his  homeward  way  from  a  lonely  walk,  was  astonished  to 
perceive  an  individual  stationed  opposite  the  house  and  ges- 
ticulating at  its  smooth  front  of  many  panes.  The  man 
stood  out  solitary  against  one  of  the  long  line  of  trees, 
melancholy  canal-trees,  in  little  rounds  among  the  stones, 
fresh  from  a  German  toy-box.  His  appearance  was  needy, 
but  not  untidy.  His  figure  much  shrunk,  yet  nowise  abject 
in  its  indigence. 

Eeinout,  as  has  been  said  already,  knew  nothing  of  the 
actual  world.  He  understood  that  the  poor  were  part  of 
the  divinely  ordered  plan,  created  to  give  the  rich  an  oppor- 
tunity of  exercising  the  virtues,  especially  of  charity  to- 
wards their  brethren  and  of  gratitude  towards  God.  And 
had  he  been  told  that  the  poor  lacked  bread — which  he 
was  not — he  might  easily  have  added  his  name  to  the  list 
of  those  favoured  ones  who  are  credited  with  having  an- 
swered :  "  Then  why  don't  they  buy  cakes  ?  " 

There  could  be  no  mistaking  the  strange  man's  mean- 
ing. He  shook  his  fist  menacingly  with  fierce  glances  and 
mutterings,  and  then,  after  a  final  thrust  of  his  lean  arm, 
he  turned  and  crept  in  the  direction  from  which  Reinout 
was  coming. 

As  soon  as  they  were  close  together  :  "  Wiiy  did  you  do 
that  ?  "  asked  Reinout,  reproducing  the  other's  threat. 

The  man  started  and  stared.     "  Because  a  villain  lives 


184  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

there,"  he  answered  sullenly,  "  if  it's  any  satisfaction  to  yon 
to  know,"  and  he  sought  to  co7itinue  his  way. 

But  Eeinout  interposed,  with  flushed  cheek  and  trem- 
bling lip.  lie  had  all  his  mother's  impetuousness  and  much 
of  his  father's  caution.  He  had  the  former's  strength  of 
passion,  and  none  of  the  latter's  nervousness.  In  his  indig- 
nation he  was  going  to  burst  out :  "  But  that's  my  father  !  " 
when  curiosity  checked  the  words. 

"Why  a  villain?"  he  questioned,  a  trifle  imperiously. 
Wonnema  stopped  again.  No  one  could  look  closely  at 
Eeinout  and  not  recognize  the  Jonker's  social  status.  "  All 
rich  men  are  villains,"  replied  Wonnema  evasively.  Pru- 
dence fortunately  kept  him  from  particularising  the  Count's 
offences  to  the  first  boy  that  questioned  him. 

"  But  w' hy  are  rich  men  villains  ? "  persisted  Eeinout, 
greatly  relieved,  meanwhile,  to  find  the  charge  so  much  ex- 
tended. 

"  Why  ?  Because  they're  born  to  't.  Because  they  suck 
it  in  with  their  mother's  milk.  Because  God  has  given 
them  the  right,  they  think.  Because  a  rich  man's  happi- 
ness is  built  up  of  a  thousand  poor  men's  sufferings.  That's 
why." 

Only  the  last  "  because  "  conveyed  a  definite  meaning 
to  the  questioner.  It  struck  straight  with  all  its  newness. 
Surely  things  were  the  other  way  round. 

"  That's  why,"  continued  the  strange  man,  warming  to 
his  subject.  "  Because  the  rich  can  do  no  .wrong,  and  if 
they  have  done  wrong  the  poor  must  suffer  for  it.  Here  am 
I  starving,  because  my  innocence  must  cloak  a  rich  man's 
guilt.  Go  your  ways,  boy,  you'll  be  a  villain  some  day,  if 
you  aren't  one  already.  You're  born  to  it."  He  passed 
into  the  road  and  walked  a  few  paces  farther.  Then  he 
turned  for  a  final  easement  of  his  over-burdened  heart. 
"  And  yon's  the  biggest  villain  of  all,"  he  said,  once  more 
lifting  a  thin  finger  of  scorn  in  the  direction  of  the  orange- 
plaster  wall. 


A    WINDOW   OPENS.  1S5 

"  Hold  jour  tongue,"  cried  Eeinout  boldly.  "  My  father 
lives  in  that  house."  But  Wonnema  had  already  resumed 
his  trudge.  The  boy  stood  hesitating.  Of  the  other's  last 
speech  he  had  again  understood  one  sentence  only,  which 
reached  his  heart.  "  Here  am  I  starving."  The  man  was 
of  course  a  beggar.  What  other  connection  could  there  be 
between  rich  and  poor?  He  had  been  turned  off  at  the 
door  and  was  angry.  People  were  turned  off,  as  Reinout 
knew,  for  the  Count  disapproved  of  almsgiving.  The  boy 
had  a  whole  florin  in  his  pocket,  half  the  month's  pocket- 
money.  "Starving?"  He  ran  after  the  retreating  figure. 
"  Here,  poor  man  !  "  he  said.  And  to  his  utter  amazement 
the  beggar  struck  the  coin  to  the  ground.  "  My  children 
are  famished,"  said  Wonnema  thickly,  trembling  with  emo- 
tion. "  I  would  rather  see  them  dead  than  take  home  one 
penny  of  yours  ! "     The  florin  lay  glittering  in  the  mud. 

Reinout  retreated  in  dismay.  He  did  not  look  round 
again,  from  a  delicate  instinct  that  the  other  was  still  star- 
ing hungrily  at  the  silver-piece.     But  Wonnema  let  it  lie. 

The  boy  crept  into  the  house,  all  his  heart  and  head  in 
confusion.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  come  into 
contact  with  the  Spirit  of  Protest  against  things  that  are. 
He  knew  of  course  of  the  existence  of  wickedness  and  sor- 
row— vaguel}^ — these  were  unavoidable  and  to  be  endured. 
He  knew  that  wickedness  incorporate — mad  ambition — had 
slain  blessed  saints  and  martyrs  such  as  Louis  the  Sixteenth. 
For  there  had  always  been  thieves  and  murderers,  big  and 
small.  But  an  honest,  if  mistaken,  cry  against  Evil  in  High 
Places,  an  arraignment  of  divinely-instituted  Order  before 
the  bar  of  God  Himself,  of  this  he  could  make  nothing. 
Irresistibly  he  felt  that  the  poor  Avretch  had  been  sincere. 
"  A  rich  man's  happiness  is  built  up  of  a  thousand  poor 
men's  sorrows."  "  Some  day  you  will  be  a  villain ;  you  are 
born  to  it."  He  sat  down  on  a  bench  in  the  hall  to  tiiink 
it  out.  And,  his  eye  falling  on  some  letters  in  the  letter- 
box, he  carried  these  in  to  his  father,  as  was  his  custom,  and 


1S6  THE  grp:atkr  glory. 

tlion  went  buck  to  liis  seat.  It  was  no  use  asking  Papa 
about  the  poor.  Papa  felt  no  interest  in  the  subject.  And 
he  differed  from  M.  de  Souza.  "  You  should  never  give  to 
beggars,"  lie  had  often  said.  "  It  encourages  them  to  ask 
for  more." 

Eeinout  lay  back  on  the  open  bench  and  closed  his  eyes. 
That  refusal  of  money.  What  did  it  signify  ?  There  was 
no  room  for  it  in  the  whole  little  system  of  his  calm  exist- 
ence. And  the  more  he  thought  of  it  the  more  bewildered 
he  grew. 

"While  he  still  lingered  there,  he  heard  his  father  calling 
his  name  in  the  library,  in  a  strange  "strangled  "  voice.  As 
he  started  up,  the  door  flew  open,  and  the  Count  came  rush- 
ing out,  his  face  distorted  with  excitement.  "  Eeinout,"  he 
stammered,  "  Reinout !  "  and  catching  the  boy  to  his  breast 
he  covered  him  with  kisses,  laughing  and  sobbing  by  turns. 
Eeinout  kept  quite  still ;  a  horrible  fear  traversed  his  brain 
that  his  father  had  become  insane ;  he  set  his  teeth  tight. 

"  My  boy,  my  boy,"  said  the  Count  at  last  more  calmly, 
holding  his  son  at  arms'  length  and  looking  into  his  eyes. 
"  Imagine,  what  wonder !  What  triumph !  God  has  given 
us  Dej-num.  In  the  most  wonderful  of  all  manners,  it  is 
ours : " 

"  Ours  ?  "  repeated  the  lad,  bewildered. 

"  Ours,  yes,  ours.  Mine,  yours.  Ever  afterwards.  Yours. 
Yours,  some  day  when  your  poor  father  has  been  laid  to  rest. 
Yours,  Eeinout,  Count  Eexelaer  van  Deynum  ! "  He  once 
more  drew  his  heir  towards  him,  and  kissed  him,  solemnly 
this  time,  between  the  eyes.  "  And  now  I  must  go  tell  your 
mother,"  he  said,  and  turned  to  the  staircase.  "  Gracious 
Heaven,"  he  thought  to  himself,  as  he  mounted  it  with 
dancing  step,  "  how  queerly  things  work  round  ! "  Yet,  he 
was  not  one  of  those  who  feel  that  Heaven  is  gracious,  even 
when  things  work  round — queerly. 

Eeinout,  left  to  himself,  repeated :  "  God  has  given  us 
Deynum,"     More  money,  then.     More  grandeur.     Did  that 


A   WINDOW   OPENS.  187 

mean  more  "  villainy  "  ?  Nonsense.  The  man  was  crazy. 
God  has  given  us  Deynum.  What  is  "  God  "  to  Eeinout  ? 
An  image  set  np  at  very  rare  intervals,  special  "  points  de 
vue,"  along  the  road  of  life.  It  is  a  double-visaged  image, 
like  Janus,  One  face  has  angry  eyebrows :  Fate ;  the  other 
smiling  glances :  Luck. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

MISS   PIGGIE. 

Alterxately  slapping  and  stroking  lier  lapdogs,  Flor- 
izel  and  Amanda  (abbreviations  by  Eeinout,  regardless  of 
inverted  gender,  Flora  and  Ami),  Madame  van  Rexelaer  lay 
humming  her  second  stanza,  which,  translated  into  English, 
would  have  run  somewhat  as  follows : 

"  Then  let  me  sleep  the  sleep  of  death. 
And  bear  me  where  my  fathers  are. 
My  dying  sob  was  the  final  breath, 
Of  the  noble  house  of  Cachenard." 

She  was  purring  over  this  poetical  effusion  when  the 
Count  suddenly  burst  in  upon  her. 

"  Prepare  yourself,"  he  said,  "for  the  most  extraordinary, 
the  most  incredible  good  news  !  " 

"  0  Rex,"  she  exclaimed,  flushing  with  j^leasure.  "  You 
don't  mean  to  say  I'm  invited  to  stay  at  the  Palace  of 
Loo?" 

"Rex"  was  the  name  she  had  given  him  in  the  earliest 
dawn  of  her  enthusiasm.  0  Richard  !  0  Hilaire  !  0  mon 
Roy  !  She  hardly  ever  made  use  of  it  now,  but  the  moment 
was  one  of  ecstatic  abandonment ;  visions  floated  before  her 
of  delicious  new  dresses,  three  a  day,  and  the  intimate  inter- 
course of  an  august  home-circle  for  half  a  week,  so  different 
from  the  tumult  of  an  omnium  gatherum  where  you  made 
your  bow  in  the  crowd  and  sank  back  like  a  wave  on  the 
sea.     She  screamed  aloud  with  expectation. 


MISS   PIGGIE.  189 

"No,  no,  that  another  time!"  said  the  Count.  "  ilow 
can  you  talk  such  nonsense,  when  you  know  the  Court  is 
here?  Just  listen  to  me,  and  put  down  those  dogs  for  a 
minute." 

"  I  thought  it  was  an  invitation,"  pouted  the  lady,  "  I 
don't  care  if  it  isn't  an  invitation.  I  don't  want  anything 
else." 

"It  appears,"  the  Count  continued,  without  taking  any 
notice  of  the  last  remarks,  "  that  your  mother  had  connec- 
tions of  whom  you  never  knew  anything — very  respectable 
relations,  to  say  the  least." 

"  My  mother's  name  was  Dupuys,"  replied  the  daugliter 
of  the  noble  house  of  Cachenard,  removing  her  face  from 
behind  Florizel,  whither  she  had  retreated  in  her  sulkiness. 
"  It  doesn't  sound  a  very  aristocratic  name.  My  uncle  once 
told  me  that  she  had  come  from  the  north  of  France.  He 
never  said  anything  about  her  relations." 

Count  Hilarius  had  always  carefully  avoided  glancing 
down  into  the  depths  from  whence  his  wife  had  ascended  to 
his  side.  Not  to  know  is  the  safest  way  of  lying.  It  was 
enough  to  live  in  constant  recollection  of  the  uncle's  career, 
without  discovering  what  the  parents  had  done.  lie  had 
grumbled  at  the  dishonour  and  he  had  also  grumbled,  the 
price  being  so  heavy,  that  his  wife  had  not  brought  him 
more  at  the  price.  Fortunately  Rio  was  far  ;  and  the  par- 
ents were  still  farther. 

"  I  cannot  make  it  out  very  clearly  as  yet,"  he  now  said, 
"  but,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  your  mother  was  a  very  different 
person  from  "what  she  pretended  to  be.  The  Belgian  lawyer 
who  writes  presumes  that  I  am  acquainted  with  her  ante- 
cedents and  is  therefore  far  /from  explicit.  But  it  seems 
that  she  was  neither  more  nor  less  tlian  a  Demoiselle  de  la 
Jolais-Farjolle,  of  the  Belgian  house  of  la  Jolais  de  Saint- 
Leu.  She  seems  to  have  run  away  with  a — a-^her  hus- 
band."    He  stopped,  and  eyed  his  wife  curiously. 

"  And  what  is  that,  la  Jolais?"  asked  tlie  (Jountcss. 


190  'I'll  I'   (iKKATER   GLOHV. 

"  It  is  Olio  of  tlio  greatest  families  in  Europe,"  replied 
the  Count  dril}'.  "  The  head  of  the  house  is  the  Marquis 
de  la  Jolais-Farjolle." 

Mademoiselle  de  Cachenard  clapped  her  hands.  "  How 
delightful !  "  she  cried  with  a  bright  little  laugh.  "  How 
pretty !  A  Marquis  !  It  is  more  than  a  Count.  What  a 
good  thing  I  did  not  know  when  I  married  you,  that  my 
mother  had  been  a  Marchioness,  Hilarius.  I  might  not 
have  been  satisfied  with  a  Count,  after  that." 

"  Your  mother  was  not  a  Marchioness,"  answered  Rexe- 
laer  irritably,  "  no  more  than  your  uncle  Cachenard.  What- 
ever she  was,  she  seems  to  have  had  the  good  taste  after  her 
— adventure,  to  sink  all  her  past  down  a  well,  henceforth  to 
be  known  as  Dupuys.     But,  now,  as  to  results." 

"  Xo,  no,  you  are  jealous  !  How  charming  it  sounds  I 
De  Cachenard,  nee  de  la  Jolais-Guignol.  Much  nicer  than 
Rexelaer.  I  wish  I  had  known  !  "  And  she  hugged  Flori- 
zel  to  her  face  till  he  squeaked. 

"  De  Farce  rare,  nee  de  la  jolie  guinguette,"  cried  the 
son  of  all  the  Rexelaers,  exasperated  by  these  taunts. 
"  Your  mother  was  a  gentlewoman — more  shame  to  her  ! — 
and  she  ran  away  with  a  groom  out  of  her  brother's  stables, 
and  his  name  was  Cochonnard  !  " 

"  What  ?  "  shrieked  the  Creole,  dropping  Florizel  with  a 
thud  on  the  floor.  "  It  isn't  true.  Oh  you  horrid  vulgar 
man  to  come  and  tell  such  stories  ! "  And  she  burst  into  a 
tempest  of  screeches  and  (audible)  wishes  she  was  dead. 

"  Allons,  allons,  how  can  you  behave  so  childishly  !  "  in- 
terposed the  Count,  somewhat  disturbed  by  this  exceptional 
ebullition  of  feeling.  "  You  have  known  all  along  how 
your  uncle  got  his  "  de,"  and  that  you  were  not  even  legally 
entitled  to  use  it." 

"  I  was  my  uncle's  heiress,"  wailed  Margherita,  "  and  I 
don't  care.     I  won't  be  called  Cochonnette." 

"  You  are  called  at  present,"  said  her  husband  soothing- 
l}',  "  the  Countess  Van  Rexelaer." 


MISS   PIGGIE.  191 

"  I  don't  care,"  slie  interrupted  liim  with  a  fresh  burst 
of  tears.  "  I  wo-wo-won't  be  called  Miss  Piggie — Miss  Pig- 
gie,  indeed  !     I  wo-wo-won't." 

"  But  for  goodness  sake,  listen  to  reason.  There  is  the 
bright  side  yet  to  come,  and  it  is  almost  incredibly  fortunate. 
The  Marquis  de  la  Jolais,  your  mother's  half-brother,  is 
dead.  He  died,  intestate,  about  a  fortnight  ago,  and  if,  as 
they  imagine,  you  are  his  only  near  relation,  all  his  private 
property  will  come  to  you." 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Margherita,  opening  her  eyes,  never- 
theless. 

"  Xonsense.  They  have  been  telegraphing  to  Eio,  and 
the  answer  has  come  that  they  must  apply  to  me.  As  in- 
deed they  must.  There  is  quite  a  distant  cousin,  they  tell 
me,  who  succeeds  to  the  Belgian  estate  by  a  contract  inde- 
pendent of  wills,  but  you,  being  the  niece,  are  the  heiress 
who  comes  into  the  rest." 

"  All  the  other  money  was  mine  too,"  said  Margherita. 

She  stung  him.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  it  was,  Mademoiselle 
Cochonnard." 

Then  Margherita  screamed  once  more  and  fainted  dead 
away. 

Years  ago,  when  this  used  to  happen,  the  Count  would 
pull  down  the  bell-rope.     Now  he  walked  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

SPLEXDIDE    MEXDAX. 

A  DAY  or  two  later,  further  advices  having  been  re- 
ceived meanwhile,  the  great  news  had  obtained  sufficient 
consistency  to  allow  of  its  being  communicated  to  the  Rexe- 
laers-Borck. 

The  facts  as  to  Margherita's  mother  were  briefly  these. 
The  Marquis  de  la  Jolais, — the  Marquis  J'ose — himself  his 
mother's  only  child,  had  had  a  step-sister  many  years 
younger  than  he,  the  late  darling  of  the  whole  family.  He 
had  been  as  a  father  to  her  during  many  years,  and  just  as 
he  had  arranged  that  she  should  be  most  desirably  married 
to  (not  with)  an  old  friend  of  his  own,  she  had  eloped  with 
a  stable-boy.  The  head  of  the  house  had  immediately 
erased  her  name  from  its  annals,  and,  having  been  apprised 
later  on  that  she  was  living  at  Lyons  with  her  spendthrift 
husband  in  absolute  destitution,  he  paid  her  over  the  sum  of 
ten  thousand  francs,  on  consideration  of  her  sacredly  bind- 
ing herself  to  sink  all  her  antecedents  and  to  assume  hence- 
forth the  name  of  Dupuys.  The  bargain  was  faithfully 
kept.  The  man  Cochonnard  died  early  from  drink ;  his 
broken-hearted  wife  did  not  long  survive  him,  and  their 
little  daughter  Margaret  was  left  with  her  rich  bachelor- 
uncle.  The  Marquis  remained  unaware  of  all  particulars. 
He  had  forbidden  his  lawyers  to  communicate  with  him  on 
the  subject,  and  he  had  caused  it  to  be  generally  understood 
that  his  half-sister  had  died  without  a  child.  Nevertheless, 
one  of  those  rumours  that  always  come  knocking  at  barri- 


SPLENDIDE   MEXDAX.  I93 

caded  cars  had  vaguely  informed  him  of  some  facts  con- 
cerniug  the  Cochonnards  and  their  money-making.  He 
had  loved  his  sister  as  much  as  he  was  capable  of  loving 
anything ;  a  hundred  times  he  wished  she  had  died  in  her 
bloom. 

Once  his  eye  had  fallen  on  an  announcement  in  the 
Paris  Figaro  of  the  marriage  of  a  Count  Eexelaer,  of  whom 
he  knew  nothing  but  the  name,  with  a  Mademoiselle  Eifca 
de  Cachenard,  of  whom  he  knew  nothing  at  all.  He  had 
glided  on  to  the  next  paragraph.  But  a  few  weeks  later  he 
received  a  short  letter  from  the  old  uncle.  In  the  joy  of  his 
heart  Cochonuard  had  thought  the  moment  was  come  to 
reconcile  his  little  Margot  with  her  mother's  noble  relation. 
That  gentleman  tore  up  the  letter,  furious  at  having  his 
uncertainty  thus  rudely  broken  into.  As  for  the  improve- 
ment in  the  young  lady's  original  patronymic,  it  filled  him 
with  unfathomable  contempt. 

Nevertheless,  he  now  knew  what  he  knew.  His  sister 
had  a  daughter  living,  and  that  daughter  was  a  Countess 
Eexelaer.  Of  the  Eexelaers  of  Deynum.  He  was  not  as 
well  up  in  Dutch  families  as  the  Baron  was  in  Belgian. 
But  even  the  Baron  had  known  nothing  of  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Jolais  except  that  she  had  run  away,  long  ago,  with 
some  footman,  and  had  died  shortly  afterwards,  in  Paris, 
he  believed.  The  Marquis  was  not  sorry  to  think  the  child 
should  have  done  well.  But  he  washed  his  hands — literally, 
laboriously — after  having  torn  up  the  old  man's  letter. 

One  summer  he  had  gone  to  spend  a  week  with  some 
friends  at  their  seat  near  Blankenberghc,  and  fickle,  foolish 
Fortune  had  cast  the  child  Eeinout  straight  across  his  path. 
He  had  fled  from  the  association  that  night  with  both 
hands  to  his  ears.  But  the  memory  clung  to  his  dried-up 
old  heart.  He  liked  the  look  of  the  boy.  He  liked  his 
manner.  He  had  liked,  above  all,  that  bold  dash  into 
danger.  The  Marquis  J'ose  knew  good  blood  when  he 
saw  it. 


194  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

And  on  that  terrible  night  of  his  flight  from  Amster- 
dam, the  word  "  Deynum,"  as  it  crashed  through  the  car- 
riage-window, had  struck  comfort  to  his  soul,  in  the  midst 
of  its  agon}'.  "  This  is  nothing,"  the  guard  had  cried, 
"  this  is  Deynum,"  Truly,  it  was  nothing  to  him  ;  he  had 
willed  that  it  should  be  nothing,  but  it  was  the  only  name 
which,  at  that  hour  of  supremest  loneliness,  had  conveyed 
to  the  wretched  sufferer  a  remote  idea  of  relationship.  He 
knew  nothing  more  of  the  Eexelaers  than  that  they  had 
their  home  at  Deynum.  He  could  travel  no  farther.  The 
place  fascinated  him.  He  would  keep  up,  all  the  more 
strictly,  the  incognito  he  had  already  assumed.  He  would 
look  out  for  himself.  Perhaps — who  knows? — he  would 
find  ultimate  pleasure  in  this  daughter  of  his  race.  He 
would  see  the  boy  again.  He  was  dying.  Death  strangely 
alters  our  perspectives. 

He  remained,  therefore,  a  day  or  two  at  the  village-inn, 
whence  he  would  in  no  case  have  been  anxious  to  depart, 
and  tried  to  feel  his  way.  He  soon  perceived  that  there 
were  complications  which  his  ignorance  was  unable  to  un- 
ravel. He  was  too  proud  to  write  off  now,  for  information, 
to  his  lawyers  at  Brussels.  These  were  the  wrong  Eexe- 
laers. Of  course  they  were  related.  There  were  jealousies, 
evidently,  and  bickerings.  The  Marquis  was  too  much 
occupied  with  himself  to  take  any  great  interest  in  these. 
Then  came  the  incident  of  the  house.  He  wanted  the 
lonely  castle  with  all  a  rich  man's  sudden,  irresistible  want. 
And  if  later  on  it  should,  in  the  course  of  life's  accidents, 
become  young  Eeinout's  property,  well,  that  was  no  in- 
ducement, but  it  was  certainly  no  objection  to  buying 
it.  As  for  the  clause  about  never  "  letting  or  selling  to 
Count  Hilarius  van  Kexelaer,"  he  could  easily  subscribe  to 
that.  Count  Hilarius  would  either  inherit  the  property 
through  his  wife  or  never  possess  it  at  all.  But  the  sick 
man  had  not  as  yet  settled  these  things  in  his  mind ;  per- 
haps, later  on,  he  would  make  a  will.     He  was  bitterly  irri- 


SPLENDIDE   MENDAX.  195 

tated  at  the  failure  to  discover  his  niece  in  the  hour  of  need. 
Yet  he  wanted  to  die  unknown.  He  wanted  to  be  nursed. 
He  wanted  both  extremes.  He  wanted  neither.  And  in 
the  midst  of  his  uncertainty  the  catastrophe  spread  sudden 
silence  over  all. 

Reinout  went  up  to  his  room  with  the  wonderful  dis- 
covery that  the  mysterious  old  gentleman  of  his  long  boy 
fancies  had  now  developed  into  a  blood-relation,  a  fairy 
god-father,  a  great  giver  of  gifts.  The  splendour  of  a 
powerful  position,  large  landed  proprietorship  with  all  its 
responsibilities  and  advantages,  the  sudden  uplifting  into  a 
"  great  family,"  this  had  come  to  his  mother,  and  through 
his  mother,  to  himself,  direct  from  the  dead  hand  of  his 
secret  friend.  He  understood  the  importance  of  the  inher- 
itance as  few  boys  of  his  age  could  have  done.  Yet  it  was  not 
so  much  an  uplifting  as  a  restoration.  He  knew  all  about  the 
fief  of  Hohenthal-Sonnenborn,  and  the  Countship  of  the 
Holy  Roman  Empire,  and  "  I  will  make  you  Baron  Butter- 
worth."  The  hero  of  the  latter  story  he  revered  as  the 
founder  of  "  our  branch."  At  last,  then,  after  the  lapse  of 
three  centuries,  a  Count  Rexelaer  would  again  ascend  the 
ancestral  throne.  He  understood  all  that.  You  cannot 
help  knowing  thoroughly  what  your  father  tells  you  at  least 
once  a  month. 

He  locked  himself  into  his  room  with  "  Prince."  He 
could  not  have  told  you  why  he  liked  to  lock  himself  in, 
although  nobody  ever  disturbed  him.  It  was  a  fancy,  a 
craving  of  the  lonely  child  for  absolute  loneliness.  Next 
door  was  the  schoolroom,  bare  and  tiresome ;  this  was  his 
own  sanctum,  dull  and  dark  like  the  rest  of  the  house,  but 
bright  to  him  with  all  a  boy's  accumulated  treasure.  He 
had  a  fine  collection  of  seals,  and  a  smaller  one  of  postage 
stamps  (neglected),  and  he  was  now  busy  in  getting  to- 
gether, at  the  Chevalier's  suggestion  and  under  his  super- 
intendence, a  set  of  engravings  of  "  distinguished  "  pcrson- 
U 


100  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

ages,  native  and  foreign.  Some  good  swords  and  rapiers 
hung  against  tlie  wall,  a  present  from  his  father ;  in  one 
corner  stood  a  turning-lathe,  in  another  a  complete  suit  of 
armour  from  a  children's  ball  (William  van  Rexelaer,  first 
Count  Ilohenfels)  and  an  out-grown  toy  uniform  of  a  Prus- 
sian Hussar,  for  in  earlier  days  Reinout  had  loved  to  dress 
up.  The  place  of  honour,  however,  was  occupied  by  a 
small  glass  cabinet,  in  which  were  carefully  arranged  a 
variety  of  old-fashioned  gloves  and  mittens,  half  a  dozen 
centuries  of  hand  covering,  big  and  little,  silken,  leathern, 
or  velvet,  embroidered,  bejewelled  and  laced.  The  Cheva- 
lier's life-long  hobby,  gloves  of  celebrated  women — (he  had 
spent  on  the  hands  what  the  hearts  had  left  him) — solemn- 
ly made  over  to  his  darling  pupil  on  the  hitter's  twelfth 
birthday,  "  the  termination  of  childhood."  "  Collection- 
nez,  mon  enfant,"  said  Monsieur  de  Souza.  "  It  is  good ; 
it  supplies  a  vocation.  When  next  we  are  in  Paris  I  will 
take  you  to  see  the  fans  of  the  Vicomtesse  de  Rovilly. 
They  are  worth  several  hundred  thousand  francs  and  she 
shows  them  to  no  one,  but  she  and  I  are  friends  of  the 
days  gone  by.  That  is  the  distinction  of  the  collectionneur 
comme  il  faut.  He  does  not  show  his  collections."  Xature 
was  represented  by  a  pair  of  gorgeous  stuffed  birds  from 
Brazil,  all  glitter,  and  pricked-up-ness,  and  pride. 

Reinout  threw  himself  down  on  a  magnificent  tiger- 
skin,  the  j)resent  of  an  Indian  Prince  to  Margherita,  but 
neglected  now  and  a  little  moth-eaten  in  places.  The  great 
black  retriever  fell  over  his  young  master,  and  they  curled 
themselves  into  each  other,  warm  and  soft.  Two  things 
were  troubling  Reinout's  thoughts,  in  spite  of  his  eager  de- 
sire to  rejoice  in  his  father's  triumph  :  the  lean  finger  of 
earnest  protest  upraised  against  the  "  villainy  '*  of  Greatness, 
and  the  strange  Marquis's  last,  sad  words :  "  Try  to  do  your 
duty.     I  have  not." 

"  I  will,"  said  Reinout,  sitting  up,  with  his  arm  round  the 
dog's  neck.     "  If  only  one  always  had  somebody  to  tell  one 


SPLENDIDE  MENDAX.  197 

exactly  what  was  right,  it  would  be  so  easy.  Why  isn't 
there?  I  don't  suppose  anybody  wants,  purposely,  to  do 
anything  wrong.  Of  course  there's  Monsieur  de  Souza. 
He  always  used  to  know,  I  think,  but  perhaps  he  doesn't 
always.  I  don't  think  he'd  quite  understand  what  this  beg- 
gar-man meant,  he  knows  so  little  about  poor  people.  A 
gentilhomme  devoir  fait  loi.  That  means  to  do  your  duty's 
always  right.  At  any  rate,  it's  always  right  to  choose  the 
disagreeable  and  be  kind."  And  then  he  began  to  ponder 
the  approaching  St.  Nicholas  festivities  and  the  presents 
he  was  going  to  buy  for  his  cousins,  the  Rexelaers-Borck, 
especially  for  Topsy,  his  twelve  year  old  favourite  and  play- 
mate. He  always  received  ten  florins  extra  to  purchase 
these  presents  with.  He  still  hesitated,  for  Topsy,  between  a 
canary  and  a  card-case  (!).  True,  that  was  a  subject  on  which 
he  could  ask  his  mother's  advice.  There  were  some  subjects, 
you  see,  on  which  he  could  ask  his  mother's  advice.  He  got 
up,  and  wandered  downstairs  to  find  her,  the  dog  at  his  heels. 
Prince  was  not  permitted  to  enter  the  winter-garden,  be- 
cause of  his  sweeping  tail.  He  knew  it,  and  the  prohibition 
was  a  very  sore  point  with  him  on  account  of  Ami's  and 
Flora's  insolent  manner  of  yapping  against  the  glass-doors. 
He  sneaked  in  to-day  unperceived,  and  then  turned  with 
loud-voiced  protest  at  Eeinout's  command  to  retire,  backing 
and  barking  and  bounding  till,  in  another  moment,  he  had 
upset  a  couple  of  pots  by  the  entry.  Margherita  came  into 
view  from  behind  a  great  stand  of  chrysanthemums.  Her 
eyes  were  still  sulky ;  she  looked  down  at  the  snapped 
stems  with  their  helpless  pink  blossoms.  They  were  her 
dear  Brazilian  lilies,  just  come  back  from  the  florist  who 
had  reared  the  seeds  for  her  at  much  trouble  and  expense. 

She  did  not  say  a  word,  but  her  face  grow  suddenly 
ugly,  and  she  went  back  for  a  little  wliip  wliicli  she  kept 
to  rule  her  own  pets. 

Reinout  had  scan  his  mother  beat  Prince  once  before, 
till  she  drew    blood.      He   trembled    from   head    to   foot. 


198  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

"  Miimma,"  he  cried,  "  it  wasn't  Prince's  fault,  it  was  me. 
I  brought  him  in  and  I  knocked  him  uji  against  the  flower- 
pots." 

She  hesitated,  with  uplifted  whip.  One  moment  he 
thought  she  was  going  to  strike  him  ;  then  she  said,  in  a  voice 
as  ugly  as  her  face,  "  Very  well,  Rene ;  your  St.  Nicholas 
money  can  pay  for  new  ones,"  and  turned  her  back  on  the 
boy  and  the  cowed  creature  at  his  feet. 

Eeinout  silently  got  his  copy-books  and  went  up  to 
Monsieur  de  Souza.  He  felt  that  he  had  done  his  duty  by 
his  defenceless  friend,  whose  entrance  he  should  have  fore- 
stalled. 

His  tutor  and  he  were  busy  with  Italy,  which  was-  by  no 
means  a  united  kingdom  yet  in  those  days.  "  And  now  re- 
peat to  me,  Eene,"  said  Monsieur  de  Souza,  "what  I  told 
you  yesterday  about  Xaples.  How  did  there  come  to  be  a 
Bourbon  reigning  at  Xaples?  Go  on."  And  Eeinout  be- 
gan. "  You  are  forgetting  about  the  Casa  Crocida's,"  inter- 
rupted the  old  gentleman  presently.  "  I  am  coming  to  that, 
Monsieur,"  replied  Eeinout,  colouring.  "  But  the  King, 
seeing  the  battle  was  hopelessly  lost,  turned  and  fled  down 
a  narrow  ravine.  After  a  long  ride  he  reached  the  lonely 
house  of  a  peasant  by  some  cross-roads,  and  the  peasant, 
recognising  him,  gave  him  a  fresh  horse.  And  the  King 
said:  'Swear  that  you  do  not  betray  me,'  and  the  old  peas- 
ant swore  on  the  cross  of  the  King's  sword.  But  just  when 
the  King  was  gone,  flying  to  the  left,  a  troop  of  the  enemy 
rode  up  and  they  asked  which  way  the  King  had  passed. 
And  the  peasant  said,  '  To  the  right,'  but  they  did  not  be- 
lieve him,  and  they  made  him  swear  on  the  cross  again,  and 
he  told  them  that  he  hated  the  King  because  he  had  taken 
his  only  son  for  a  soldier,  and  then  he  saw  that  the  enemy 
had  got  his  son  with  them  as  a  prisoner !  And  the  captain 
of  the  enemy  said  :  '  We  will  turn  to  the  right ' — for  they 
had  to  choose,  you  see,  by  the  old  peasant's  cottage — '  and 
if  the  King  is  not  caught  to-night,  we  shall  slay  your 


SPLENDIDE   MENDAX.  I99 

son.'  And  the  peasant  said :  '  The  King  is  gone  to  the 
right.' 

"  And  wlien  the  war  was  over  the  King  sent  for  the  old 
man  and  made  him  a  baron.  And  the  son,  who  had  escaped, 
became  a  great  generaL  That  was  in  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury " — "  Fifteenth,"  corrected  M.  de  Souza — "  and  the 
King  gave  them  as  a  motto  '  Splendide  Mendax,'  and  the 
present  head  of  the  house  is  Prince  Paul  Casa  Crocida,  who 
was  ambassador  at  Paris  under  Louis  Philippe,  and  ar- 
ranged the  treaty  of  Maisons-Douillette,  and  whose  wife  is 
a  Paniphigliosi  and  an  aunt  of  the  Italian  minister  here." 

Presently  the  Count  came  in.  He  liked  to  think  he  re- 
mained in  touch  with  his  son's  education.  "  Well,  my  dear 
Chevalier,"  he  said  beamingly,  "  I  hope  we  shall  be  able  to 
move  to  Deynum  in  time  for  Christmas.  We  can  hardly  be 
ready  as  early  as  St.  Nicholas  (5th  Dec),  but  we  must  have 
a  regular  Christmastide  with  all  my  brother's  family.  They 
are  so  English,  you  know.  The  air  is  dry  ujd  at  Deynum. 
It  will  do  your  rheumatics  good." 

"  It  will  do  good  then  unto  the  good  and  to  the  evil," 
said  the  old  Chevalier,  smiling.  "  Like  the  good  God 
Himself." 

"  And  you,  Rene,"  continued  the  Count,  turning  to  his 
staring  son,  "  you  must  keep  your  presents  till  Christmas. 
We  shall  have  a  splendid  time." 

"  There  will  be  no  presents,"  said  Eeinout,  a  little  sul- 
lenly. 

"  Nonsense,     Why  not  ?  " 

"  Mamma  has  taken  away  my  money,"  replied  the  son 
of  the  house,  with  his  elbows  on  the  table. 

"Have  you  been  misbehaving?  Oh,  never  mind.  We 
can't  have  the  whole  thing  spoiled  just  now.  I'll  let  you 
have  an  extra  gold  piece  for  the  sake  of  Deynum."  And 
Count  Ililarius  fingered  the  money  in  his  waistcoat-pocket. 
As  a  rule  he,  with  his  pecuniary  preciseness,  was  a  complete 
stranger  to  "  tips." 


200  THE  GREATER   GLORY. 

Rciiiout  did  not  move  from  liis  ungraceful  pose. 
"I'd  rather  not,  Pajia,"  he  said,  in  liis  young  pride  of 
«iartyrdom.     "  Mamma  wouldn't  like  it." 
"  Xonsense.     Catch  ! " 
And  Eeinout,  not  being  a  prig,  caught. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

LOW    LIFE,  FOR    A    CHANGE. 

A  FEW  evenings  before  the  memorable  Cliristmas-tide  of 
that  memorable  year,  a  group  of  heavy-browed  peasants  sat 
solemnly  smoking  their  pipes  round  the  stove  in  the  tap- 
room at  Deynum.  The  stove  glowed  red-hot  in  the  centre, 
the  room  was  ill-lighted  and  stuffy,  amid  its  perfumes  of 
gin  and  paraffin,  and  its  slow- wreathing  clouds  of  smoke. 
Could  you  have  pierced  beyond  the  lowering  beams  of  the 
ceiling,  you  would  have  found  in  the  chamber  above  a 
dark  stain  hid  away  under  the  square  of  carpet.  They  had 
scrubbed  the  boards  repeatedly,  but  the  stain  remained. 

The  "memorable"  year  18 — .  Surely,  in  all  human 
language,  there  is  no  more  ridiculous  word  than  "  memo- 
rable," the  bellow^s  with  which  we  try  to  rekindle  our  little 
dead  sparks.  To  the  lookers-on  at  Deynum  the  year  was 
memorable,  because  it  brought  events  which  interested  and 
amused  them,  "  pained "  them  also,  but  even  pain,  in  a 
great  catastrophe,  is  a  form  of  amusement  to  the  lookers-on. 
To  you,  who  live  in  the  centre  of  the  Universe,  my  epithet 
looks  extravagantly  oversized,  but  to  you  the  Christmas  of 
that  year  is  memorable  because  of  Tenorelli's  magnificent 
debut  at  the  Scricci,  or  because  the  festivities  of  the  season 
brought  your  first  attack  of  gout  in  their  train.  Or  perhaps 
it  is  memorable  to  all  the  hundred  millions  of  this  rolling 
world  of  Koopstud,  because  of  that  great  victory  which 
"  changed  the  course  of  history."  So  be  it.  It  is  memo- 
rable to  Tante  Suze,  because  peat  was  a  halfpenny  cheaper 
that  winter  than  it  has  ever  been  before  or  since. 


202  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

The  peasants  of  our  poor  little  village  sat  round  the  fire 
on  that  winter's  evening,  and  smoked.  But  they  alwa3's  sat 
there,  of  winter  evenings,  and  they  always  smoked.  They 
sat  inotionless,  in  great,  black  hulking  lumps,  with  their 
caps  drawn  over  their  eyelids,  and  their  eyelids  sunk  over 
their  immovable  cheeks,  enshrouded  in  lazy  mists  from 
each  man's  pendent  pipe.  And  mine  host  tried  to  make 
them  talk,  as  in  duty  bound,  while  he  filled  their  little 
glasses  with  thick  white  gin,  for  was  it  not  his  duty  to  pro- 
vide entertainment,  and  his  profit  to  provoke  thirst? 

The  remarkable  circumstance  on  the  particular  evening 
here  mentioned  was  this,  that  the  guests  talked  of  their  own 
accord,  and  without  any  prompting.  It  were  erroneous, 
however,  to  imagine  a  babel  of  conversation.  In  the  silence 
of  the  heavily-shadowed  bar-room  some  tight-coated,  rusty 
creature — the  only  bright  spot  about  whom  was  probably 
his  vermilion  face — would  suddenly  hazard  a  few  slow  sen- 
tences, frequently  without  removing  the  pij^e  whicli  pulled 
down  his  lips.  And  then,  after  a  brief  pause,  during  which 
the  clock  against  the  wainscoted  wall  ticked  with  stimulat- 
ing preciseness,  a  few  solemn  words  of  reply  would  ooze 
forth  from  another  creature,  exactly  similar  in  features,  and 
manner  and  accent,  to  the  one  who  had  spoken  last.  And, 
however  insignificant  the  opinion  emitted,  each  speaker  wore 
an  air,  in  emitting  it,  which  would  have  done  honour  to  a 
conclave  of  dignitaries  of  the  Church. 

"  Yes,  it's  true  enough,"  said  Jaap  Hakkert,  the  butcher. 
"  I  met  Fokke  Meinderts  myself  this  afternoon  driving  a 
cart-load  of  boxes  from  the  station.  The  family  are  coming 
next  week." 

"  "What  do  they  want  cart-loads  of  things  for  ?  "  queried 
a  voice  from  behind  the  peat-basket.  "  Wasn't  there  moun- 
tains in  the  Castle  already?  And  didn't  the  old  Baron 
leave  them  all  ?  " 

"  Everything,"  broke  in  the  landlady's  fat  voice,  "  ex- 


LOW  LIFE,  FOR  A  CHANGE.  £03 

cepting  the  plate  and  the  pictures  and  the  family  papers  and 
things.  Those  the  Baron  had  removed  to  Father  Bulbius's 
two  days  after  the — the  accident." 

There  was  an  especially  long  pause  this  time,  heavy  with 
thought.  At  last  Job,  the  landlord,  remarked,  as  he  medi- 
tatively took  down  a  bottle  of  spirits :  "  There's  nothing 
coming  but '  personal  effects,'  Dievert  tells  me.  Whatever 
those  may  be,  great  folks  require  a  good  deal  of  them,  it 
seems.  They  can't  be  clothes  only,  for  nobody  would  want 
such  boxes  of  tltem.'''' 

"Much  you  know  about  it,"  burst  in  Hendrika  with  a 
scornful  slap  of  her  red  hand  on  the  bar.  "  Great  ladies 
have  hundreds  of  dresses,  a  couple  for  every  day  in  the 
year  !  "  She  cast  aggressive  glances  at  her  cumbrous  hus- 
band from  her  bright,  bold  eyes.     Evidently  an  old  subject. 

"  The  Baroness  hadn't  dozens  of  different  dresses,  re- 
torted Job,  on  the  defensive.  "  One  always  saw  her  in  the 
same  black  silk." 

"The  Baroness  wasn't  a  fine  town  lady." 

"  She  was  a  real  fine  lady  !  "  cried  the  landlord. 

"  She  was  the  greatest  lady  that  ever  was,"  said  a  feeble 
old  man,  who  sat  nearest  the  stove. 

They  all  spoke  of  her  in  the  past.  To  the  villager  one 
who  has  definitely  quitted  the  village  is  dead. 

"  I  mind  me  when  you  never  came  across  her  but  in  a 
white  robe,  like  ah  angel,"  the  "  oldest  inhabitant "  went 
on.  But  at  this  several  of  them  cried  out.  They  all  re- 
membered that,  they  said.  Uncle  Peter  must  not  give  him- 
self airs.  The  old  man  subsided  querulously.  "  I  mind  the 
Baron's  grandfather,"  he  muttered,  "  with  a  bag  to  his  hair, 
and  buckle-shoes."  But  nobody  heeded  him.  Their  loss 
was  too  recent.  And  besides,  they  had  heard  all  his  stories 
before. 

Everyone  sat  staring  gloomily  and  smoking.  Presently 
Jaap  Ilakkert  "  screeched  "  his  chair  along  tlio  sanded  floor. 

"  There's  one  thing  I  can't  understand,"  he  said  very 


20 J,  TJIE  URP:ATER  glory. 

loud.  "  This  old  gentleman  that — tliat  died  was  a  good 
Catholic — eh  ?  "  And  he  looked  round  fiercely,  daring  the 
whole  circle  to  deny  it.  Not  that  he  cared  much,  but  that 
was  his'bullying  way. 

"  He  was  a  Catholic,"  re])lied  Ilendrika,  "  but  not  good. 
Now,  his  man  was  a  pious,  amiable  gentleman,  and  so  pleas- 
ant to  speak  to."  She  smirked  a  little,  half  frightened  un- 
der the  furious  glances  of  her  lord. 

"  And  these  people,  his  heirs,  are  nought  but  beggarly 
Protestants,"  Hakkert  went  on,  ignoring  the  landlady. 
"  And  what  I  want  to  know  is,  how  ?  " 

Most  of  the  peasants  lifted  up  their  eye-lids  for  a  mo- 
ment and  gazed  stolidly  at  each  other ;  then  they  drojiped 
them  again.  The  butcher  sat  np,  his  whole  bulky  body  a 
mass  of  indignant  interrogation.  "  And  Eexelaers  too," 
said  one  man  who  had  not  spoken  before. 

"  It  doesn't  seem  in  nature,"  said  the  voice  from  behind 
the  peat-stove.  There  was  a  general  murmur  of  ai^proval. 
The  old  man  spat  on  the  ground.  "  God  forgive  them ; 
perhaps  they  can't  help  it,"  muttered  a  gentle-faced 
personage,  who  sat  a  little  outside  the  circle,  the  village- 
tailor. 

But  this  sentiment  did  not  find  acceptance. 

"  Some  people  are  born  so,"  added  the  tailor,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  Not  Eexelaers,"  declared  the  butcher  violently.  And 
he  struck  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  on  to  his  raw,  fleshy 
palm. 

"  Well,  whatever  they  may  be,"  interposed  the  ever  con- 
ciliatory landlord,  "  we  shall  have  them  among  us  in  a  week, 
and  we  shall  see." 

"And  we  shall  hang  out  flags  and  put  up  a  couple  of 
triumphal  arches,"  said  the  tailor.  "  It's  a  pity  the  season 
is  too  late  for  flowers." 

"  No  arches ! "  burst  out  a  young  fellow,  who  now  spoke 
for  "the  first  time.     lie  sjjoke  with  great  vehemence.     And 


LOW   LIFE,  FOR   A     CHANGE.  205 

he  came  forward  from  a  little  side-table,  by  wliicli  be  had 
been  sprawling  in  the  darkness,  bis  hands  in  his  pockets,  a 
stumpy  brown  pipe  between  his  lips — a  big  bright-looking 
young  fellow,  with  a  shock  of  yellow  hair.  The  others  all 
stared  slowly  round  at  him. 

"  I'd  like  to  see  the  sneak  would  dare  to  hang  out  a  bit 
of  colour,"  he  cried,  slowly  edging  his  w^ay  into  the  circle. 
He  held  up  the  little  brown  pipe  in  one  huge  brown  hand, 
the  other  he  clenched  in  a  threatening  lump  in  the  pocket 
of  his  tight  black  breeches.  "  Who  of  you  wants  to  rejoice 
at  the  old  lord's  downfall '?     Xot  I." 

"  Xot  I,"  said  the  man  behind  the  peat-basket, 
and  then  most  of  the  others  said  "  Kot  I."  "  Ah,  but 
what  does  the  Commune  do?"  said  the  tailor.  And  he 
smiled. 

The  Commune,  in  Holland,  has  a  Burgomaster,  a  couple 
of  assessors  and  a  village-council.  The  Burgomaster  is  al- 
most always  a  man  of  birth  and  position,  by  preference  a 
large  landed  proprietor.  The  Baron  had  been  Burgomaster 
of  Deynum ;  the  post  was  vacant. 

All  eyes  were  turned — with  a  long,  slow  movement  which 
left  the  heads  unaltered — in  the  direction  of  a  portly  farmer 
whose  rubicund  full  moon  shone  with  the  radiance  of  fifty 
years'  prosperous  butter-making.  This  was  the  Deputy 
Burgomaster.  "We  must  see  what  Dievert  says,"  this 
Avorthy  made  haste  to  declare.  Dievert,  the  Baron's  stew- 
ard, was  the  other  assessor,  and  had  been,  for  many  years, 
practical  ruler  of  the  Commune. 

"  If  the  village-council  do  anything  in  the  way  of  an 
official  welcome,  they  deserve  to  be  hung,"  declared  Thys, 
as  he  turned  on  one  heel.  "  They  won't,"  assented  some- 
body. "  No,  that  they  won't,  nor  none  of  us,"  cried  tiio 
landlady  energetically.  "  Bravo,  Thys  ;  are  you  off  to  Lise 
up  at  the  Chalkhouse-farm?  He!  He!"  The  landlady, 
like  all  her  sex,  dearly  loved  a  bit  of  love-making ;  other 
i)eople's  was  always  second-best.     Thys  was  Lise's  sweet- 


206  THE   GREATER   GLORY. 

heart,  you  rcmeiiibcr.  'i'liey  "were  to  be  married  in 
spring. 

"  No,  they  won't,"  affirmed  Jaap  Ilakkert,  who  was  a 
member  of  the  Council,  "  not  for  beggars  of  Protestants. 

AVe  don't  want  no  d beggars  of  Protestants  at  Dey- 

num." 

"  Ilist,"  interrupted  Job,  who  was  another  member,  lie 
looked  round  anxiously.  For  Protestants,  though  they  do 
not  thirst  for  the  true  religion,  may  still  be  made  welcome 
at  a  Catholic  bar.  At  Deynum  the  Pharisees  of  both  sects 
visited  the  Publican's  house  with  a  beautiful  readiness  which 
would  have  been  deemed  reprehensible  eighteen  hundred 
years  ago.  But  to-night,  as  it  happened,  the  landlord's  eye 
beheld  none  of  these  men  of  false  faith  and  honest  pay,  such 
as  his  soul  both  scorned  and  cherished. 

"No,  that  the  Council  won't,"  said  Job,  disgusted  by 
their  absence.  "  Damn  beggars,  whether  masters  or  serv- 
ants." 

"  Best  take  your  masters  as  they're  sent,"  said  the  tailor. 

Thys  turned  threateningly  by  the  door,  already  half  in- 
visible, looming  terrible  through  the  darkness.  "  It's  my 
belief  you're  glad,"  he  said  illogically.  "  Boys,  let's  shame 
him.  Hurrah  for  the  old  Baron !  The  Holy  Virgin  help 
him.     Hurrah ! " 

Dutchmen  are  not  easily  moved  to  exliibit  feeling.  Nor 
did  these  now  spring  to  their  feet  with  uplifted  caps.  But 
most  of  them  took  up  Thys's  cry,  with  a  clumsy  grin  on 
their  faces  and  a  doubt,  at  their  hearts,  of  young  Thys's 
foolish  fuss.  In  those  same  wooden-walled  hearts,  however, 
there  was  but  one  prayer  of  sympathy  for  the  poor  great 
ones  so  suddenly  driven  from  their  midst.  The  Dutch 
peasant,  as  a  rule,  thinks  and  feels  true.  The  Baron  had, 
all  his  life,  been  a  good  lord  to  his  people ;  the  Baroness,  a 
very  patron  Saint.  The  new  man  was  a  fine  city  gentleman, 
despicable  for  having  been  born  in  a  street.  And,  besides, 
as  far  as  they  understood,  he  had  not  even  paid  for,  but  had 


LOW  LIFE,  FOR  A   CHANGE.  207 

stolen  the  property,  which  the  Baron  had  expressly  condi- 
tioned should  never  be  his.  "  We  will  insult  him,"  said  one 
fellow  aloud,  giving  voice  to  the  general  sentiment.  The 
tailor  sat  gazing  immovably  at  the  red  eye  of  the  stove. 
Some  ashes  fell,  and  the  red  eye  winked  at  him. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

REIXOUT   II. 

A  LIVERY  servant  of  Count  Rexelaer's,  with  heavy  fur 
coHar  and  orange  cockade,  stood  iu  lonely  grandeur  on  the 
little  Deynum  platform,  under  the  glimmering  oil-lamp. 
Two  carriages  were  waiting  beyond,  their  lights  radiant 
across  the  snow  of  the  starry  December  night. 

The  whole  family  came  bundling  out  of  their  compart- 
ment, in  an  avalanche  of  winter  wraps,  the  parrot,  the  yelp- 
ing lap-dogs,  a  couple  of  attendants,  a  chaos  of  baggage, 
animate  beings,  and  cold.  "  Oh,  there's  John,"  called  out 
Eeinout.  "  How's  my  pony,  John  ?  "  For  he  had  received 
the  promised  pony  from  his  father  a  conple  of  weeks  ago. 

The  station-master  came  sidling  up,  with  awkward  curi- 
osity, which  the  lord  of  the  manor  suddenly  felt  and  re- 
sented. He  hurried  his  wife  into  the  foremost  of  the  con- 
veyances and  they  drove  rapidly  off,  along  the  bleak  country- 
road.  "  The  cold  is  nnbearable,"  whispered  the  Countess, 
shuddering.  "  Oh,  Mamma,  how  can  you  say  so?  Look  at 
the  lovely  softness  of  the  snow,"  the  boy's  eyes  were  dancing 
with  excitement.  "  We  are  going  to  have  oceans  of  fun. 
There  is  a  lake,  and  when  my  cousins  have  taught  me  to 
skate,  I  will  teach  you."  "  Thank  5'ou,"  said  Margherita. 
"  Happy  child,  you  have  forgotten  !  " 

They  drove  through  the  village  presently  in  the  soft 
snow-light ;  all  was  deserted  and  still.  The  Count  looked 
towards  his  wife  uncomfortably.  The  horses  pattered  briskly 
on,  past  the  little  square  with  its  silent  church,  and  round 
into  the  avenue  of  the  park.     "  Ah !  "  gasped  the  Count. 


REINOUT   II.  209 

They  came  out  into  the  clearing  and  saw  the  dark  mass 
of  the  Castle  rise  up  on  the  other  side  of  the  water.  Sud- 
denly the  bell  in  the  tower  began  to  ring,  a  pitiful  call  to 
meals,  very  unlike  the  triumphant  harmony  of  church-bells. 
The  horses'  hoofs  went  clattering  over  the  bridge  and  up  the 
courtyard.  The  great  doors  were  thrown  open,  and  a  flood 
of  light  poured  down  across  two  bending  figures.  Strum 
and  Dievert,  on  the  steps.  Count  Hilarius  gave  his  wife  a 
nervous  hand  and  led  her  past  the  Steward's  unnoticed 
"  Welcome  to  your  noble  Countships  "  into  the  hall  of  his 
fathers.  The  place  was  full  of  people.  "  Ah,  the  tenants, 
of  course,  and  the  villagers!  Very  kind,  very  kind,"  mur- 
mured the  fine  gentleman.  The  Steward  came  hurrying 
up  behind  him :  "  Hurrah  for  my  lord  the  Count  and  his 
lady  !  "  A  feeble  shout  responded  in  which  Eeinout's  voice 
rang  out  above  the  rest.  The  lap-dogs  sprang  forward, 
barking  irritably. 

All  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  outlandish  waiting-woman, 
with  the  parrot  on  her  arm.  And  at  lier  appearance  the 
stupidest  lout  among  the  peasants  realized,  with  terrible 
distinctness,  that  here  were  aliens  indeed. 

Margherita  paused  under  the  great  stained-glass  lamp. 
"  This  vestibule  is  terribly  bare,"  she  said,  in  French.  Strum 
understood  her  and  moved  uncomfortably.  And  indeed  the 
great  panels  showed  only  too  plainly,  to  all  but  the  owners 
of  the  house,  where  the  portraits  and  suits  of  armour  had 
been  taken  down.  "  In  summer,"  interposed  the  Notary, 
"  there  are  more  flowers.  The  rest  of  the  house  is  well  fur- 
nished. Of  course  some  personal — items — '  The  Count 
winced.  The  Countess,  without  heeding  the  speaker,  had 
passed  on  into  the  dining-room, 

"And  these  are  all  the  tenants?"  said  Count  Hilarius. 
He  swept  his  hand  along  the  crowd  of  staring,  unemotional 
faces. 

"  As  good  as  all,  Hecr  Count,"  was  the  enigmatical 
answer. 


210  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

"  All !  Well,  my  good  people,  we  shall  doubtless  be  ex- 
cellent frieuds.  This  is  my  son,  the  Jonker*  Keinoiit.'" 
The  familiar  name  fell  like  a  dead  weight. 

Iveinout,  not  knowing  what  else  to  do,  as  his  father 
pushed  him  forward,  held  out  his  hand  to  a  couple  of 
burly  old  farm-people  opposite.  "  Good  evening,"  he 
said. 

The  motherly  farm-wife  seized  the  hand  and  grasped  it 
warmly.  "  Good  evening,  little  Heer,"  she  answered,  "  the 
saints  preserve  you  ! "  A  murmur  of  approval  ran  through 
the  half-defiant  ranks.     Count  Hilarius  turned  to  go. 

But  Dievert  detained  him,  dragging  forward  an  un- 
willing personage,  who  had  hitherto  been  trying  to  look  in- 
visible, Boterton,  the  loco-Burgomaster.  "  Now  then,  Boter- 
ton !  "  Boterton's  face  was  purple.  "  The  Commune  bids 
your  Nobleness  welcome,  Heer  Count,"  he  stuttered.  "  In 
the  name  of  the  village,"  he  added,  "  and  the  Council." 
After  the  enunciation  of  which  profound  sentiment  he 
lapsed  into  silence. 

And  the  careless  walls  of  Deynum  looked  down  upon 
this  scene  also. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  the  Count.  "  Who  is  the  Burgomaster? 
Eh?" 

"  There  is  none,  Heer  Count,"  replied  the  Notary. 
"  Not  at  present." 

Count  Hilarius  flushed.  "  Good-night,"  he  said.  And 
fled. 

Somehow  the  Avhole  thing  reminded  him  of — of  what? 
Suddenly  he  remembered.  Of  the  return  of  the  Bourbon 
to  his  capital,  when  the  enemies  of  his  country  brought 
him  back.     It  was  not  a  bit  like  coming  home  to  his  own. 

"  Laissa,"  said  the  Countess,  "  I  am  dead  with  fatigue— 
and  emotion.     This,  then,  is  the  chateau  de  mes  peres.     It 

*  Title  for  unmarried  sons  of  noblemen.     Pronounced  Yonker. 


REINOUT  II.  211 

is  handsome,  but  'faut  qu'on  s'y  habitue.'  Ugh,  what  a 
country !  Had  Brazil  not  been  discovered  so  late,  M.  le 
Comte's  ancestors  might  perhaj^s  have  been  Brazilian  !  " 

"  The  chateau  has  come  true,"  replied  the  mulatto. 
She  did  not  love  this  marsh  of  her  indwelling,  "  but  the 
cards  had  foretold,  M'am  Rita,  that  it  would  lie  in  a 
laud  of  knavesy 

The  departure  from  the  Hague  had  indeed  been  fraught 
with  emotions.  The  birds,  all  but  Rollo,  the  parrot,  had 
been  left  behind,  their  doctor  refusing  to  sanction  the  jour- 
ney. Margherita  had  wandered  disconsolately  from  cage  to 
cage,  and  taken  poetical  leave  of  them.  "  Adieu,  Fifi.  Tu 
dois  rester  ici.  Et  moi,  Je  vais  partir.  Adieu,  mon  Casi- 
mir."  She  herself  would  not  have  travelled,  but  for  tlie 
Count's  threat  to  receive  the  Eexelaers  of  Altena  just  the 
same,  without  her. 

And  then  the  terrible  journey  itself.  At  the  station 
she  had  been  met  by  a  refusal  to  admit  her  poor  little 
curled  darlings  into  her  compartment.  They  must  be 
thrown  into  a  luggage-van,  plush-baskets  and  all,  there  to 
die  !  The  authorities  were  inflexible.  The  Countess  still 
more  so.  There  had  been  a  scene  on  the  platform,  and  a 
crowd.  Laissa  had  pushed  over,  with  impassive  arm,  an 
official  who  happened  to  interpose,  and  the  pets  had  been 
ensconced  upon  the  carrriage  cushions,  and  Margherita, 
as  she  lay  back  among  her  furs,  had  hissed  "  Canaille  "  in 
the  station-master's  face.  Proces-verbal  had  been  drawn 
up ;  the  nervous,  distinguished-looking  gentleman  had  been 
compelled  to  give  his  name  :  Count  Rexelaer  van  Deynum, 
a  Lord  of  the  Household  ! 

."  I  will  never  travel  with  you  again,  Margot,"  Count 
Hilarius  had  declared,  as  the  train  slowly  glided  into  mo- 
tion, tlie  spaniels,  at  their  mistress's  instigation,  barking  tri- 
unipli  against  the  glass.     "  Had  you  been  a  man,"  ]\Iarghc- 

rita  had  answered,  panting,  "  you  would  have  beaten  that 
15 


._)12  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

cowardl}'  dog-torturer  within  an  iucli  of  his  life."  "  And  a 
pity  of  the  inch,"  she  added,  "  niais  11  faut  bien  respecter 
les  convenances." 

"  And  the  Court  ? "  suggested  the  little-souled  Count, 
touching,  in  his  little-souled  anxiety,  the  one  point  where 
she  would  wince.  "  In  these  Democratic  times,  such  a  row, 
with  its  possible  consequences,  may  cost  me  my  jDlace." 

"  I  don't  care,"  replied  the  Countess,  caring  very  much. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    MESSAGE   OF   THE   SILENCE. 

The  boy,  left  to  himself,  a,s  the  crowd  slowly  melted 
away  from  around  him,  stood  staring,  between  the  marble 
columns,  up  into  the  dai'kness  of  the  roof.  He  could  dimly 
discern,  emblazoned  high  above,  the  well-known  lions  with 
their  shining  swords.  The  familiar  faces  of  the  royal 
beasts  made  him  feel  at  home  immediately.  He  nodded 
to  them.  And  then  he  ran  to  the  glass  front-doors,  and 
looked  out. 

The  landscape  lay  before  him,  clear  in  the  tremble  of  its 
snow-smitten  waiting  for  the  moon — the  white  courtyard, 
and  the  dull  glitter  of  the  trees  beyond.  Away,  where  the 
bridge  was,  there  must  be  water.  He  wanted  to  find  out 
about  the  skating  he  had  promised  his  cousins ;  in  another 
moment  he  was  racing  through  the  pleasant  snow-sheltered 
air. 

Reinout  had  never  beheld  the  face  of  nature.  He  re- 
tained a  vague,  delicious  recollection  of  the  Paradise  of  his 
infancy,  glorified  by  Marglierita's  never-ending  regrets. 
The  loveliness  and  the  sensuousncss  of  living,  as  felt  by 
every  beetle  and  by  every  bud,  had  lapped  him  body  and 
soul ;  he  had  rioted  in  happiness,  nothing  to  do  but  to 
breathe  where  every  breath  was  heavy  —  sometimes  too 
crushingly  heavy — with  enjoyment;  liis  young  existence 
voluptuously  prostrate  beneath  tlie  splendour  of  its  own 
excess.  That  sun-sick  dawn  had  left  its  flush  upon  his  face 
and  heart ;  the  child  of  the  equator  would  never  freeze  into 


214:  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

a  cool,  white  Dutchman ;  but  there  had  been  no  intercourse 
with  nature  in  the  constant  seclusion  of  awnings  and  shut- 
ters, the  shrinking,  the  ceaseless  protection  from  all  that  is 
pernicious  in  reptile,  insect  or  flower.  From  these  climates 
European  children  come  away  with  the  light  of  the  sun  in 
their  eyes.     That  is  all  they  remember. 

He  was  still  young  when  they  brought  him  to  the 
Hague.  There  was  an  apple-tree  in  the  garden  there.  It 
never  bore  any  apples,  and  Eeinout's  interest  in  it  had  al- 
ways been  Platonic. 

But  now ! — oh  the  sudden  revelation,  the  personal  con- 
tact which  lay  in  that  one  thought :  this  is  home.  The 
trees,  the  fields,  the  water,  these  were  "  ours,"  not  with  the 
sense  of  proprietorship,  but  with  the  power  of  enjoyment. 
Xature,  henceforth,  wonld  stand  ready  as  a  playmate,  and 
her  abode,  with  its  fathomless  treasures,  would  be  his. 
What  matter,  if  at  this  their  first  embrace  she  hid  behind 
her  wintry  coverlet?  He  could  hear  her  laughing  under 
it,  and  the  gaunt  trees  whispered  endlessly  some  wondrous 
mystery  of  her  life. 

He  stood  for  a  few  moments  gazing  intently  into  the 
moat — he  conld  not  get  down  to  its  shining  surface  from 
here — and  then  he  turned  and  ran  in  among  the  towering 
beeches,  eager  to  have  them  on  every  side. 

The  very  glamour  of  the  scene  brought  it  more  impres- 
sively home  to  him.  We  never  hear  Xature  breathe  so 
close  to  us  as  in  the  luminous,  listening  silence  of  a  wind- 
stilled  night  of  snow.     Eeinout,  suddenly,  heard  her. 

0  that  fairy  soul-seeing,  into  the  unreal  presence  of  the 
snow-scape  !  It  is  all  so  actual  and  yet  so  visionary ;  yester- 
day it  was  not,  to-morrow  it  will  have  vanished  for  ever. 
We  know  that  it  is  a  beautiful  illusion,  both  of  shape  and 
colour,  a  dream  momentarily  materialised,  fading  away 
from  us  even  as  we  touch  it,  into  the  hard  blacks  and 
browns  of  daily  life — but  oh  the  virgin  purity  that  tempts 
us  and  escapes  us,  that  seems  to  breathe  in  death  and  bid 


THE  MESSAGE   OF  THE  SILENCE.  215 

us  grasp  it ;  surely  this  is  not  the  world  we  live  and  suffer 
in,  and  the  glamour  melts  away,  and  it  is  the  naked,  naked 
world  after  all.  But  perhaps  it  broke  ujdou  us  as  a  dim 
foreshadowing — nay,  fore-lightening — of  that  life  in  whicli 
the  snow  will  lie  upon  our  hearts  and  eyes  for  ever,  white 
beneath  the  burning  Light  of  God. 

You  smile  at  the  thought  of  a  boy  of  fourteen,  with  his 
head  full  of  skating  and  the  holidays,  suddenly  crushed 
beneath  such  an  avalanche  as  this.  It  did  not  reach  him. 
But  he  heard  its  voice  afar  off  and  stood  vaguely  listening 
for  a  moment,  ere  he  bounded  away  in  search  of  something 
new. 

He  was  wild  with  the  prospect  of  the  ice-sports,  the 
sleighing,  the  fun  with  his  cousins,  although  all  these,  ex- 
cept Topsy,  were  too  old  to  play  with  him.  Poor  little  fel- 
low !  He  was  boy  enough  at  heart,  had  he  but  known  how 
to  show  it  to  other  boys.  There  was  not  a  manly  sport 
which  he  did  not  take  to,  often  with  a  zeal  far  beyond  his 
slender  frame.  Several  times  before  this  wonderful  acqui- 
sition of  the  pony,  he  had  ridden  away  recklessly  on  any- 
body's horse.     The  Count  was  no  equestrian. 

He  ran  along  the  Holy  Walk,  by  the  merest  chance,  and 
presently  was  attracted  to  a  faintly  glimmering  light  in  the 
distance.  This  drew  him  towards  a  little  building,  of  which 
the  door  stood  ajar.  He  stole  into  the  Chapel.  It  was  dark 
but  for  the  lamp  at  the  altar. 

The  boy  stood  spell-bound  on  the  threshold.  A  Church, 
like  those  "  at  home  " — Roman  Catholic,  therefore — but  full 
of  statues  and  tombs.  A  sudden  awe  came  over  him.  Was 
this  also  a  dream  or  a  reality,  this  conclave  of  the  dead,  in 
the  wood?     He  felt  terrified,  and  started  back. 

Somebody  moved  at  the  noise.  Somebody  else,  then, 
was  in  the  building.  Somebody  rose  from  his  knees  by  the 
chancel  and  came  towards  Reinout,  a  boy  like  himself. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"Reinout  van  Rexelaer,"  replied  Reinout  stoutly. 


216  THE  greatp:r  glory. 

«  Oh,  wliat  a  lie  !  " 

"  Say  that  again !  "  cried  Reinoiit  furiously.  "  IIow  dare 
you?  AVho  are  you?  I  am  Eeinout  van  Rexelaer,  from  the 
ilague." 

They  could  hardly  distinguish  each  other  in  the  dusk  of 
the  building. 

"N-o-o-o,"  said  the  other  boy,  in  long-drawn  wonder. 
."  You  don't  mean  to  say  so.  Oh  my  eye,  what  luck.  This 
comes  of  praying.  I  say,  come  outside.  I  want  to  ask  you 
something.     I  can't  ask  it  here." 

They  went  out  into  the  night  together.  Said  the  strange 
bo}',  as  soon  as  they  were  outside :  "  Will  you  fight?  " 

"  Fight  ?  "  echoed  Eene  in  amazement.     "  Xo.     Why  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you're  about  as  old  as  I  am.     IIow  old  are 

you?" 

"  Fourteen." 

"  That's  all  right.  Fm  tliirteen ;  and  I'm  smaller. 
Now.     Will  you  figlit  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Rene,  moving  off. 

"  Ah,  you're  funking.  Coward.  And  you  won't  fight 
because  I'm  not  a  jonker,  like  yourself." 

"  Won't  I  ?  Look  out  then  !  "  replied  Reinout,  and  fiew 
at  his  adversary. 

They  had  a  hard  battle  of  it  for  a  few  moments  under 
the  shadow-shrouded  trees.  There  was  nobody  to  see  fair 
play,  but  they  managed  honestly  without.  At  the  end  of 
three  minutes,  however,  Eeinout  had  to  give  in  ;  his  antago- 
nist had  vanquished  his  superior  sparring  by  brute  force 
and  by  a  vehemence  which  the  taller  boy  was  very  far  from 
feeling.     The  little  noble  was  fairly  licked. 

"  I've  thrashed  you,"  cried  his  antagonist  triumphantly, 
"  I'm  glad  I  thrashed  you."  He  left  off  pummelling  Rene, 
and  drew  back,  out  of  breath. 

"  Yes,"  said  Reinout,  wondering  where  his  left  eye  was. 
"  You  have.     I  don't  know  why,  I'm  sure." 

The  other  had  run  off.     He  stopped,  and  came  back. 


THE   MESSAGE   OF  THE  SILENCE.  217 

"  Eemember,"  he  cried,  "  I  said  I  was  glad  I'd  thrashed 
you.     Be  sure  and  remember." 

"You  certainly  are  not  a  jonker,"  Eeinout  could  not 
help  retorting  under  this  provocation.  "  That's  not  the 
way  to  end  up.     Here,  give  me  your  hand." 

"  I  won't,"  replied  Piet  Poster,  and  scampered  away. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

"  JACK-SXAPS." 

Next  morning  Father  Bnlbius  drew  on  his  stoutest 
boots — under  Veronica's  personal  supervision — and  marched 
away  through  the  snow.  "  To  draw  on  stout  boots "  in 
Dutch  is  to  brace  oneself  for  bold  endeavour.  Well,  Father 
Bulbius  drew  them  on  and  proceeded  to  the  Castle,  to  pay 
due  homage  to  the  new  Lord.  The  visit  was  not  a  very 
satisfactory  one — how  could  it  be? — in  spite  of  Count 
Eexelaer's  studied  condescension  ;  the  good  priest  hung  his 
head  dejectedly,  as  he  came  away. 

He  had  heard  from  Dievert  that  the  Countess  had  been 
born  a  Catholic.  Count  Hilarius  deeply  regretted  that  this 
had  not  been  the  case  with  himself ;  "  it  would  have  looked 
so  much  more  genuine."  He  would  have  gone  over,  but  he 
dreaded  inquiries  into  the  reason,  and  discoveries  by  the 
Baron.  Better  talk  about  Eovert  van  Eexelaer.  Who  be- 
came a  Protestant,  you  know. 

Father  Bulbius  shook  his  head  at  intervals  all  the  way 
home.  "  A  renegade  1 "  he  said,  thinking  of  the  Countess, 
who  had  remained  invisible.  "You  cannot  help  being 
born  of  the  devil,  but  you  can  help  asking  him  to  adopt 
you."     And  he  sighed. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  Veronica,  waiting  in  the  porch,  her  arms 
a-kimbo. 

"  You  were  right,"  replied  his  Reverence,  "  the  snow  is 
melting.     It  is  very  wet." 

"But  the  Chapel?" 


"JACK-SNAPS."  219 

"  We  shall  see."  The  Father  tried  to  edge  past  her : 
the  entrauce  was  narrow,  Yeronica  bony  :  we  all  know  that 
the  good  Father  was  stout.     He  stuck. 

"  But  tlie  contract  ?  You  told  him  the  Baron  has  it  all 
in  the  contract  ?  "  Yeronica  persisted  excitedly. 

"  I  dare  say  the  Heer  Count  will  do  all  that  is  right. 
My  feet  are  damp,  Yeronica  ;  I  think  that  I  ought  to  change 
my  shoes." 

"  So  you  ought  to,  poor  lamb,"  cried  Yeronica,  and 
hurried  to  fetch  the  slippers  she  had  kept  toasting  be- 
fore the  fire.  "  I  shall  have  to  look  sharp  after  that 
Chapel,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  or  they'll  take  it  away  from 
him  yet." 

The  Father's  sanctum  now  presented  a  very  different 
appearance  from  that  under  which  we  beheld  it  last.  It 
was  swept  and  cleaned — 0  trium2)h  of  the  Broom  ! — but  it 
contained  more  litter  than  ever.  For  the  whole  room  was 
packed  full  of  the  treasures  from  the  Castle,  massed  to- 
gether under  the  guardianship  of  a  number  of  fierce-lookiug 
knights,  with  closed  visor,  who  stood  ranged  beneath  their 
banners,  strange  sight  in  the  dwelling  of  a  soldier  of  Peace. 
The  plate-chests  were  in  the  Father's  adjoining  bed- 
room ;  the  pictures,  lords  and  ladies,  in  all  their  bravery 
of  ruffs  and  doublets,  of  wigs  and  powder,  crowded  the 
o-arret.  The  quiet  cottage  overflowed  with  the  glory  of  the 
Rexelaers. 

The  Father  said  he  slept  with  one  eye  open  and  dreamed 
of  tramps.  Through  the  door  he  could  see  the  plumed 
knights  nodding  in  the  moonlight.  He  had  borrowed  a 
revolver  from  Dievert,  but  he  had  energetically  refused  to 
borrow  the  bullets  as  well.  "  Do  you  take  me  for  a  mur- 
derer ?  "  he  had  demanded  indignantly. 

He  had  been  very  proud  and  pleased,  nevertheless,  when 
the  Baron  had  sought  admittance  for  his  treasures  on  the 
day  after  the  suicide.  He  would  gladly  have  harboured  the 
living  Noblenesses  as  well  as   the  dead  ones.     "  Oh,  not 


220  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

that,"  said  the  Baron.  "  We  must  never  come  back.  We 
are  going  to  live  at  Cleves  and  forget." 

The  deserted  Castle  had  been  bad  enough ;  the  Castle 
bright  with  unusual  gaiety  was  worse.  'No  longer  did  the 
Father  venture  to  creep  up  the  avenue,  as  he  had  done  daily, 
before  the  arrival  of  the  servants  and  carriages,  to  get  a 
melancholy  peep  of  the  lines  of  closed  shutters.  "  Crows 
they  call  us ! "  he  sighed. 

So  he  kept  away,  and  grieved,  and  grew  more  indolent 
than  ever.  He  discovered  that  he  regretted  his  e carte  of 
evenings,  and  this  discovery  involved  another.  It  was  for 
his  own  sake,  then,  and  not  for  the  Baron's,  that  he  had 
continued  to  play.  He  did  not  stop  to  inquire  what  he  re- 
gretted, the  game  or  the  partner.  "  What  hypocrites  we 
are ! "  he  mused,  and  he  eyed  his  little  book  of  penances 
suspiciously,  Avondering  how  much  of  its  contents  would 
prove  false.  And  one  day  he  impatiently  threw  the  whole 
catalogue  into  the  fire.  Decidedly,  adversity  was  improving 
Father  Bulbius.  But  he  jDuUed  it  off  again  before  it  was 
burnt.     Improvement  is  uphill-work. 

The  lonely  Father  turned  in  his  easy  chair — oh,  but  it 
was  deliciously  easy ! — and  thought  how  excellent  had  been 
Veronica's  fish-cake.  The  day  was  a  fast-day ;  he  had  had 
nothing  else  ;  and  he  had  eaten  too  much  of  it.  He  nodded. 
The  fierce  warriors  around  him  seemed  to  nod  haughtily 
back.  He  stretched  out  his  hand  to  a  favourite  book — it  was 
a  Horace — on  the  floor.  He  found  that  he  could  not  reach 
it,  and  nodded  again.  And  the  whole  room  slowly  went  to 
sleep. 

"  There's  a  woman  to  see  your  Reverence,"  said  Veronica, 
standing  in  the  doorway.  She  considered  his  Reverence 
had  slept  long  enough.  On  the  whole,  she  was  very  gentle 
to  him  in  these  days,  showing  her  angry  sympathy,  like  the 
wise  woman  she  was,  by  constant  abuse  of  those  that  were 
gone.  She  had  seen  what  she  had  seen  in  the  Baronial 
kitchen,  said  this  excellent  housekeeper.     "  The  Baroness 


"JACK-SNAPS."  221 

was  always  liberal,"  Father  Bulbins  would  plead.  "  Just 
so,"  replied  Veronica,  ostentatiously  scraping  the  butter- 
knife. 

"  There's  a  woman  to  see  you  !  "  she  repeated  aggres- 
sively. 

The  Father  started  awake.  "  If  it's  a  beggar,"  he  said, 
with  an  apprehensive  frown,  "  send  her  away  with  a  hunch 
of  bread." 

"  It's  not  a  beggar,  your  Reverence  ;  it's  Vrouw  Poster." 

The  Priest's  face  cleared.  He  disliked  all  petitioners, 
because  of  his  incapacity  for  saying  "  No."  But,  good  man 
that  he  was,  he  had  a  good  man's  weakness  for  a  chat  with 
the  fair  sex,  if  not  too  alarmingly  fair.  "  Vrouw  Poster," 
he  echoed  brightly.     "  I'll  see  her  here." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Veronica,  accentuating  each  sylla- 
ble. She  introduced  the  visitor,  still  aggressively,  and,  as 
soon  as  the  door  had  closed  again — too  soon,  therefore,  for 
prudence — that  visitor,  a  comely  peasant  woman,  burst  into 
tears. 

"  Good  Heavens ! "  cried  the  Father.  "  Is  Poster  dead  ?  " 
Simple-hearted  man !  All  wives  are  doomed  to  weep  once 
for  their  husbands !  some  after  the  husband's  death,  some 
before.     If  not  after,  then  all  the  more  before. 

"  No,  your  Reverence,"  sobbed  the  gardener's  spouse. 
"  It  is  Piet !  " 

"  How  shocking  !  "  cried  the  Father.  "  How  dreadfully 
sudden  !  "  He  rose  from  his  chair.  "  Well,"  he  said  reflect- 
ively.    "  The  boy  was  a  good  boy — on  the  whole." 

"  It's  not  that,  your  Reverence.     He's  not  dead — " 

"  You  said  he  was,"  interrupted  the  Father,  annoyed. 
It  seemed  that  Vrouw  Poster  had  taken  a  liberty  with  his 
feelings. 

"Leastways  not  altogether.  Not  tluit  I  know  to  the 
contrary.     But  he's  run  away." 

"  Fetch  him  back,"  said  Father  Bulbius,  and  sat  down 
again. 


222  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

"  That's  just  what  I  mayn't  do,  your  Ileverence.  His 
father  says,  let  him  stay  away  till  he  comes  back  of  his  own 
accord." 

"  Well,  his  father,  though  harsh,  is  not  a  man  without 
sense."  Bulbius  began  leisurely  to  fill  his  pipe,  messing  the 
tobacco  over  his  already  snuffy  cassock. 

"  Oh  your  Reverence,  but  he  won't !  I  know  I^iet.  lie's 
that  dogged.  Often  and  often  he's  said  to  me  :  '  Mother,' 
he's  said,  '  if  father  don't  treat  me  better,  I  shall  run  away 
to  sea.'  And  I  used  to  laugh  at  him  ;  the  blessed  Saints 
forgive  me.  But  he's  never  been  the  same  since  the  Baron 
W'ent  away;  he  was  terribly  partial  to  the  Freule.  And 
yesterday  evening  his  father  beat  him  for  not  having  gone 
up  with  us  to  the  Castle  to  see  the  new  Lord  come  in.  And 
this  morning  he's  gone,  and  his  bed's  not  been  slept  in,  and 
he's  left  a  paper  with  '  Good-bye  to  mother  and  Xicky ' 
(that's  his  goat),  and  he's  out  in  the  snow — Oh  Lord  !  "  and 
the  poor  woman  began  to  cry  afresh. 

"  My  dear  creature,"  said  Bulbius,  considerably  disturbed 
by  these  symptoms  of  distress,  "  he  will  doubtless  return 
before  nightfall,  as  soon  as  he  has  had  enough  of  the  cold. 
And  if  not,  it  will  be  easy  to  recapture  him." 

"  He  won't  come  back,"  sobbed  Yrouw  Poster.  "  He'd 
rather  die  on  the  heath.  And  his  father's  a  harsh  man, 
though  I  say  it  that  shouldn't." 

"Xo,"  said  the  Priest,  gravely.  "You  shouldn't. 
Don't."  He  could  think  of  nothing  else  to  comfort  her. 
Presently  he  added  :  "  His  father's  lesson  may  do  him  a  lot 
of  good.  He  is  an  exceedingly  mischievous  boy,  as  we  saw 
in  that  affair  of  the  betting.  Let  him  find  out  that  there 
are  worse  places  than  home.  He  won't  stay  away  long, 
and,  meantime,  you  have  seven  other  children  to  look 
after." 

The  woman  stopped  crying  and  stared  at  him.  Sud- 
denly she  realized  that  he  was  childless.  "  Your  Reverence 
does   not  understand,"  she   said   quietly,  and   quitted   the 


"  JACK-SNAPS."  223 

room  so  abruptly  that  Veronica  had  not  time  to  get  away 
into  the  kitchen. 

He  called  after  her  through  the  open  door.  His  con- 
science smote  him.  "  Come  back,"  he  said,  "  I  want  to 
understand.     Now,  what  can  I  do  for  you,  Vrouw  Poster  ?  " 

"  I  had  hoped  that  your  Reverence  would  reason  with 
my  husband.  The  child  must  be  fetched  home  imme- 
diately.    It  is  wicked.     It  is  cruel." 

Just  what  Bulbius  had  dreaded,  argument  with  a  man 
like  Poster  !     He  gave  a  long  pull  to  his  pipe. 

"  Well,  I  will  go  with  you,"  he  said. 

The  Head-gardener,  like  many  men,  had  no  objection  to 
pastoral  exhortations,  provided  they  were  given  from  the 
pulpit,  when,  if  unfortunately  not  asleep,  he  could  hear 
without  accepting  them,  Now,  placed  between  assent  and 
dissent,  he  dissented.  Father  Bulbius  was  well  acquainted 
with  his  various  jDarishioners,  all  the  better,  perhaps,  for 
keeping  a  little  aloof.  He  disliked  receiving  a  "  No  "  from 
others  as  much  as  uttering  it  himself.  He  had  foreseen 
this  refusal,  and  therefore  he  had  sought  to  preach  resigna- 
tion to  the  gardener's  wife. 

"  In  a  day  or  two,  when  he  has  got  tired  of  begging  for 
crusts,  he  will  come  back,"  said  Piet's  father,  "  to  the  best 
beating  he  ever  had  in  his  life." 

But  obstinate  people  are  often  mistaken,  and  cruel  peo- 
ple always.     Piet  Poster  did  not  come  back. 

His  mother,  therefore,  was  compelled  to  seek  comfort 
in  the  care  of  her  other  children,  as  Bulbius  liad  suggested, 
and  the  Priest  went  occasionally  to  add  his  equally  effectual 
consolations,  not  sorry,  in  spite  of  his  shrinking,  to  find 
himself  once  more  within  the  well-loved  precincts.  He 
was  returning  late  one  afternoon  from  such  a  visit,  in  the 
ashen-grey  December  air,  when  his  path  was  crossed  near 
the  vegetable  garden  by  the  new  heir  of  the  house,  on  his 
all-glorious,  all-delectable  pony.  Reinout  quickly  lifted  his 
cap.     It  was  a  little  thing,  but  the  frank  grace  with  which 


224  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

it  was  done,  wont  straight  to  the  good  priest's  heart,  not  a 
distant  or  a  tortuous  road.  He  was  so  afraid  of  these 
strangers,  afraid  of  their  inevitable  dislike  of  himself.  "  A 
pretty  pony,"  he  said,  timidly,  with  a  ceremonious  salute. 

"  Isn't  it  a  beauty  ?  "  cried  Eeinout,  only  too  delighted 
with  this  fresh  opportunity  of  showing  his  "treasure." 
"  I'm  so  glad  that  you  like  him,  Mynheer.  And  you 
haven't  even  seen  him  gallop  yet."  "Mynheer"  to  the 
priest  from  a  Rexelaer !     Alas  the  day ! 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  him  gallop  ?  "  suggested  Eein- 
out. 

"  Very  much  indeed,  Jonker." 

"Then  would  you  mind  holding  this  for  a  moment? 
Please  keep  the  paper  down  tight,  or  they'll  jump  out.  I 
lost  one  coming  along,  and  had  an  awful  hunt  for  him." 
And  the  Jonker  extended  a  small  paper-covered  bowl  to  his 
new  acquaintance. 

Father  Bulbius  was  prejoaring  to  take  it,  when  a  new 
thought  struck  the  boy. 

"  Oh,  perhaps,  Mynheer,"  he  said  eagerly,  "  you  could 
tell  me  what  they  are  called."  He  edged  up  closer,  driving 
the  Father  unconsciously  against  a  tree.  "  Nobody  knows 
at  home.  They  all  say  '  bugs  '  of  everything.  One  of  the 
labourers  gave  me  these ;  they  were  in  the  vinery.  But  he 
says  they're  just  beetles.  Look,  this  is  one.  Take  care. 
They  pinch  awfully  with  those  little  pincers.  Can  you  tell 
me  ?     I  should  so  like  to  know." 

Bulbius  had  not  been  a  peasant  boy  at  Deynum  and 
afterwards  a  seminarist  for  nothing.  The  two  heads  bent 
over  the  bowl  in  the  dim  light.  "  Those  are  not  beetles  you 
have  got  there,"  he  said,  "  but,  then,  the  common  people 
call  most  insects  beetles.  These  are  called  '  Jack-Snaps '  in 
our  parts.  They  have  got  a  long  Latin  name,  I  daresay,  but 
I  should  have  to  look  that  out  for  you." 

"  Oh,  would  you  ?  How  very  kind  of  you,  Mynheer. 
Have  you  got  a  book,  then,  witli  all  the  names  inside?     I 


"JACK-SNAPS."  225 

want  to  find  out  immensely.  I  am  so  glad  to  know  that 
these  are  '  Jack-8naps.'  I  shall  tell  Sam  ;  he  gave  them  to 
me.  There  are  lots  of  animals  in  the  green-honses ;  what  a 
quantity  there  will  be  everywhere  in  summer !  I  had  no 
idea  there  were  so  many  in  the  world.     It  is  capital  fun  !  " 

"You  like  being  here,  Jonker '? "  said  Bulbius,  a  little 
sadly. 

"Oh  don't  I  just!  It's  splendid.  And  to-morrow  all 
my  cousins  are  coming !  And  we  are  going  to  keep  Christ- 
mas.    And  they  are  going  to  teach  me  to  skate  !  " 

As  he  talked  thus  excitedly,  the  brown  pony,  which  had 
been  standing  beautifully  still,  gave  a  sudden  and  terrific 
leap,  almost  unseating  its  rider.  Father  Bulbius  retreated 
with  wonderful  alacrity  behind  the  tree,  and  peeping  from 
thence  was  spectator  of  a  struggle  during  which  the  pot  and 
its  contents  were  tossed  away  on  the  snow.  At  last,  having 
probably  freed  itself  from  the  pincers  which  had  first  caused 
its  restlessness,  the  animal  quieted  down  and  Reinout  tri- 
umphantly patted  it,  as  the  Father  gingerly  emerged. 

"  I  nevei'  knew  him  do  that  before,"  said  the  young 
master  reproachfully,  and  the  pony  unfortunately  could  not 
explain.  "But  oh  the  Jack-Snaps!  I  must  find  them  ! " 
And  he  leaped  to  the  ground  and  began  eagerly  hunting  in 
the  snow. 

It  was  almost  dark.  The  Father  struck  match  after 
match  in  the  wind-still  air,  and  bent  his  burly  figure  as  best 
he  could.  They  searched  together,  but  vainly.  "  It  can't 
be  helped,"  gasped  the  Father  at  last.  "  You  must  get  Sam 
to  find  you  some  more  animals,  Jonker,  and  if  you  come  to 
my  Parsonage,  I'll  tell  you  their  names." 

"  I'm  so  sorry  to  have  lost  these,"  said  Reinout,  "  and, 
besides,  they  will  die  in  the  cold."  He  rode  off  soberly. 
The  Father  watched  his  figure  disappear  into  the  evening 
mist.  "  No,"  said  the  Father  aloud,  "  it  could  never  be 
done.  Besides,  mixed  marriages  are  a  very  great  evil.  But 
a  nice  boy,  nevertheless.     A  really  nice  boy." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

reixout's  cousins. 

Xext  afternoon  Reinout  went  down  to  the  little  station 
with  a  couple  of  carriages,  and  all  the  Rexelaers  van  Altena 
were  let  loose  out  of  the  crowded  Christmas  train  and  came 
driving  back  with  the  young  heir  through  the  startled  vil- 
lage. The  village  was  very  much  interested.  The  former 
lords  had  lived  in  the  silence  of  an  approaching  dissolution ; 
the  curtain  had  now  risen  for  another  and  a  brighter  play. 
The  village  criticised  the  smart  town  carriages  and  the  smart 
town  ladies,  and  the  liveries  and  the  horseflesh,  especially  the 
horseflesh.  It  still  said  "  Well !  "  but  the  tone  was  sinking 
from  doubt  to  content.  Jaap  Hakkert,  the  butcher,  agreed 
with  the  two  bakers  that  a  full  table  and  a  full  purse  at  the 
table  had  their  advantages.  The  tailor  smiled.  And  the 
oldest  inhabitant  said  that  things  reminded  him  of  the 
Baron's  father's  father's  time. 

Thys  looked  into  his  Lise's  eyes.  "  Do  you  remember," 
he  asked,  "  how  hard  pressed  the  Baron  was  when  he  refused 
to  sell  the  Chalkhouse  Farm  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  Thys ;  we  all  remember,"  said  Lise.  Thys 
was  Lise's  cousin,  as  well  as  her  lover.  He  had  lived  all  his 
life  at  the  Chalkhouse  Farm. 

Count  Eexelaer's  younger  brother  Frederick,  as  every- 
body knows,  had  married  a  daughter  of  the  great  Gelderland 
family  of  Borck,  a  cousin  of  that  powerful  Baron  Borck  of 
Rollingen  whose  estate  Joined  on  to  Deynum.  The  lady  had 
brought  her  husband  a  little  money  and  a  number  of  influ- 


REINOUT'S  COUSINS.  227 

ential  connections.  He  was  a  quiet,  insignificant,  sat-upon 
little  man,  a  member  of  the  magistrature  and  an  utter  failure 
as  a  lawyer.  But  he  played  whist  very  well.  And  she  was 
comfortable  and  florid,  and  managed  everybody  and  every- 
thing. You  got  on  excellently  with  her  if  you  said  "  Yes  " 
in  the  pauses  of  her  talk.  They  made  Frederick  van  Eexe- 
laer  a  judge  before  he  was  forty.  Her  cousin  E —  was  min- 
ister at  the  time. 

"  My  dear  Betsy,"  his  Excellency  had  said,  suddenly  sur- 
rendering after  a  long  tussle,  "  as  you  have  got  his  name 
proposed — Heaven  only  knows  how  you  managed  it ! — I  will 
appoint  him  in  spite  of — " 

"  Thank  you,  Herman,  that  is  like  you — " 
"  Superior  claims.  But  on  one  condition  only.  He 
must  solemnly  bind  himself  to  me  never  on  any  account  to 
express  a  separate  opinion.  He  must  always  '  concur '  with 
his  colleagues.*  You  understand  me.  I  can  have  no  awk- 
ward questions  cropping  up." 

"  I  understand  perfectly,"  replied  Mevrouw  Eexelaer- 
Borck.     "  I  promise." 

"  But  I  would  rather  have  his  own  word  bind  him — " 
"  Eeally  ! "  said  Mevrouw  with  a  peculiar  smile.     "  Well, 
of  course  you  know  best.     I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Her- 
man.    You  are  the  best  friend  we  have." 

But  she  had  more  best  friends.  The  judge  faithfully 
kept  his  promise,  and  he  found  it  very  easy  to  keep.  And 
they  knew  the  right  people,  whom  to  know  renders  utter 
misery  impossible.  Besides,  they  were  anything  but  misera- 
ble, although  they  experienced  some  difficulty  about  always 
making  both  ends  meet  exactly  in  the  manner  they  wanted. 
She  liked  children.  Slie  liked  managing.  And  he  liked 
whist. 

And  the  five  children,  as  they  grew  up,  liked  themselves, 

*  Verdicts,  in  Holhuid,  nre  pronounced  by  juries  of  judges. 
16 


22S  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

which  is  always  a  great  advantage.  Aud  the}'  liked  their 
mother's  numerous  relations — a  rarer  coincidence — and  their 
large  circle  of  acquaintances.  Of  course  they  all  believed, 
heart  and  soul,  in  the  Greatness  of  the  Eexelaers,  and  tried 
to  forget  that  the  brand-new  title  of  this  branch  was  not — 
officially,  at  least — a  revival  of  the  Holy  Roman  one.  Grand- 
mamma Rexelaer  (the  haberdasher's  daughter)  had  never 
existed  at  all.  Grandmamma  Borck  was  alive,  and  a  very 
great  lady  indeed. 

The  chief  event  of  these  good  people's  life  had  been  the 
arrival  from  foreign  parts  of  the  head  of  the  family  with  his 
wife  and  his  olive-coloured  cherub  and  all  their  delicious, 
if  rather  disquieting,  paraphernalia  of  foreignness.  And 
the  Rexelaer  liveries  once  more  shone  in  the  streets  of  a 
city  of  flunkies,  and  the  lion's-paws  stretched  forth  their 
swords  from  the  panels  of  the  Creole  Countess's  brand-new 
carriages — ipsa  glorior  infamia — and  her  family  arose  and 
called  her  blessed.  The  children  were  rather  disappointed 
about  her  colour.  Rolline,  the  younger  girl,  had  long  iden- 
tified her  aunt  with  her  nigger-doll  Jumbo ;  Jane,  the  elder, 
avowed  a  preference  for  cafe  au  lait.  Margherita  was  not 
a  bit  like  Jumbo.  She  was  very  handsome,  and  the  whole 
family  talked,  in  public,  of  her  beauty  alone. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  venerable  Baroness  Borck  to  her 
daughter,  "  I  asked  Madame  de  Jercelyn  about  the  Cache- 
nard  family.  She  said  she  had  never  heard  the  name.  And 
there,  I  think,  we  had  better  stop." 

There  were  five  young  Rexelaers  van  Altena — where  is 
Altena? — two  sons,  Guy  and  George,  the  younger  Just  out 
of  his  teens,  and  after  these  three  daughters,  Jane,  Rolline 
and  Antoinette.  They  were  all  golden-haired  and  good- 
looking  and  stupid,  except  Jane,  who  was  sharp  of  features 
and  of  soul.  Guy  was  at  Leyden  preparing  to  follow  his 
father's  career  with  all  his  father's  chances  of  success; 
George,  the  beauty,  foolish,  good-natured,  Apollo-faced 
George,  was  nowhere,  everlastingly  plucked  in  the  A  B  C. 


REINOUT'S  COUSINS.  229 

"  George  will  have  to  marry,"  said  Grandmamma  Borck. 
The  girls,  too,  would  have  to  marry,  though  what  could 
anyone  make  of  plain-featured,  plain-spoken  Jane  ?  They 
were  always  well-dressed,  and  they  were  "  altogether  Eng- 
lish," which  means  that  they  spoke  Dutch  with  an  English 
accent  and  English  with  a  Dutch  one.  That  was  the  proper 
thing  among  their  "  set "  at  the  Hague,  and  you  must  on 
no  account  make  use  of  any  language  but  English  in  public 
places  and  conveyances,  and  very  nice  it  would  be  if  the 
Nemesis  of  Pronunciation  did  not  infallibly  rise  and  mock 
you.  And  the  Freules  van  Rexelaer  never  wrote  other  than 
English  notes  to  their  intimates,  and,  if  they  wanted  to  be 
particularly  affectionate  and  undyingly  faithful,  they  signed 
them — "  yours  truly  "  !  Yes,  they  were  very  English,  in- 
deed. 

Reinout's  especial  friend,  twelve-year  old  Antoinette, 
therefore  felt  much  aggrieved  at  the  French  name  she 
bore.  She  had  been  called  after  the  wife  of  the  minister 
who  had  given  her  father  the  Judgeship,  and  she  went  about 
as  a  living  monument  of  gratitude.  To  comfort  her  the 
others  had  dubbed  her  Topsy,  and  the  nickname  suited  her ; 
she  was  a  shock-headed  tomboy  in  those  days.  She  had 
been  wild  to  get  to  all  the  glories  which  Reinout  had  graph- 
ically foretold.  Almost  before  the  train  had  stopped,  she 
plumped,  past  her  cousin's  extended  hand,  down  on  the 
platform,  flinging  her  arms  round  the  retriever's  neck. 
"  Prince  first,"  she  said,  looking  up,  with  all  a  child's  pre- 
cocious coquetry,  at  her  "  preux  chevalier." 

Mevrouw  Elizabeth  ascended  the  castle-steps  with  state- 
ly smile.  She  never  worried  her  children,  leaving  all  these 
things  to  governesses  and  to  time.  Her  heart,  at  this  mo- 
ment, was  full  of  the  bitter  sweet  of  the  first  visit  to  Dey- 
num.  The  whole  family  rejoiced  and  envied.  "  The  home 
of  our  fathers !  "  Up  till  now  the  only  real  sorrow  in  the 
life  of  this  daughter  of  the  Borcks  had  been  the  harrow- 
ing conviction  that  the  entire  city  of  the  Hague  was  con- 


230  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

staiitly  couscious  of  the  distinction  between  real  Rexelaers 
and  false.  Most  people  in  the  Hague,  had  she  but  known 
it,  were  thinking,  as  she  did,  of  themselves. 

There  had  been  some  trouble  about  getting  away,  at  this 
time  of  the  year,  from  Grandmamma  Borck.  That  won- 
derful old  lady  had  originally  taken  but  very  little  interest 
in  her  daughter's  common  husband's  still  more  common 
sister-in-law.  She  took  no  great  interest  in  anything  now- 
adays, excepting  the  dual  contentment — culinary  and  con- 
versational— of  that  active  member,  her  tongue.  She  lived 
to  eat  (little,  but  well),  and  to  talk  (well,  but  much).  And 
she  had  managed  to  preserve  her  figure.  And  she  liked 
tyrannizing  over  a  rich  orphan  grandchild,  whose  money 
ported  them  both. 

She  woke  up  to  a  firework  of  questions,  however,  when 
the  great  news  of  the  inheritance  suddenly  fell  with  a  hiss 
on  a  hundred  spluttering  tongues.  Mevrouw  Elizabeth, 
who  faithfully  visited  her  mother  at  least  three  times  a 
week,  now  had  to  go  daily,  and  tell  all  she  knew.  A  little 
more,  under  the  pressure  of  much  questioning  and  pro- 
gressive irritability. 

"  Of  course  I  remember  the  Marquis  la  Jolais  at  Brus- 
sels," coughed  the  Dowager  over  her  laced  handkerchief 
and  scent-bottle  by  the  blazing  fire.  "  He  was  handsome, 
though  a  little  bit  of  a  dandy.  They  used  to  call  him  the 
Marquis  J'ose.  He  was  very  courteous  to  women,  but  then 
everybody  was  that  in  those  days.  Don't  ring,  Cecile.  Put 
on  the  coals  yourself.  And  to  think  that  this  little  no-one- 
knows-who  should  be  his  niece  !  I  remember  all  about  the 
affair  with  the  groom  and  the  business  at  Eio.  Leave 
the  room,  Cecile,  and  your  aunt  and  I  can  talk  it  over 
again." 

"Yes,  grandmamma,"  answered  Cecile  demurely,  where 
she  knelt,  tongs  in  hand,  a  pretty  figure,  before  the  fire. 
"Grandmamma  and  you  are  quits,"  Topsy  Eexelaer  used 
to  say.     "  Each  makes  life  as  hot  as  she  can  for  the  other." 


REINOUT'S  COUSINS.  231 

Graudmamraa  was  cold-blooded  and  exceedingly  "  f  rileuse  " ; 
Cecile  was  warm-hearted  and  chilled. 

"  They  are  wanting  us  to  go  and  spend  Christmas  with 
them,"  Mevrouw  Elizabeth  began  a  little  hesitatingly.  "It 
would  be  good  fun  for  the  children,  in  spite  of  Margherita's 
affectation  of  grief.  She  has  gone  into  mourning,  Mamma, 
preposterous  mourning,  an  extra  inch  for  each  additional 
nought  of  the  legacy.  She  makes  a  fool  of  herself.  You 
remember  how  everybody  laughed  at  Clara  van  Weylert's 
crape." 

"  I  do,"  said  the  Dowager  grimly,  "  and  I  remember  the 
joke  about  the  additional  inch ;  it  was  Dolly  Weylert  made 
it.  You  ought  to  bring  me  some  new  jokes,  instead  of 
spoiling  old  ones  in  the  telling.  I  go  out  so  little ;  I  hear 
nothing.     I  often  wish  I  was  dead." 

Mevrouw  van  Rexelaer  knew  what  this  meant.  "  We 
won't  go  to  Deynum,  unless  you  like,"  she  said.  And  then 
she  added  with  her  ready  tact :  "  The  children  will  feel  it's 
their  duty  to  stay  and  cheer  up  grandmamma.  You  always 
get  miserable  at  this  time  of  the  year." 

The  Dowager  angrily  shook  off  her  daughter's  arm. 
"  Cecile  can  dress  me  a  tree,"  she  said,  "  with  bonbons  and 
a  doll !  Wait  till  you  arc  my  age  and  Jane  tells  you  to  feel 
young.  I  shall  be  thankful  to  know  you  are  all  revelling 
at  Deynum  without  any  trouble  to  me.  To  a  woman,  after 
seventy,  life  is  a  humiliation  and  a  disgrace.  There,  there, 
I  am  tired." 

Mevrouw  Elizabeth  rose  with  a  sensation  of  relief.  Poor 
Mamma !  Her  gout,  you  know !  And  the  festive  season. 
"It  is  a  great  responsibility  for  Ililarius,"  she  said,  "tbis 
large  property.     And  Margherita  is  hardly  the  woman — " 

"  Fiddlesticks.  I  daresay  she  will  give  away  soup  tickets. 
Tell  Cecile,  as  you  go  out,  to  bring  me  up  my  bouillon." 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

MARGHERITA   DISCOVERS   THAT   YOU    CAX    MAKE    EVEN"    A 
COLD    COUXTRT    TOO    HOT   TO    HOLD   YOU. 

"Yes,  it  is  very  beautiful,  Hilarius,"  said  Mevrouw 
Elizabeth  at  dinner.    "  But  it  is  an  immense  responsibility." 

The  Count  jumped  at  the  idea.  He,  who  had  always 
been  known  in  his  own  family  as  "  The  Grumbler,"  was 
rather  embarrassed  in  the  presence  of  his  relatives  by  his 
great  good  fortune.  "  It  is  indeed,"  he  answered,  pulling 
down  his  face.  "  I  have  no  end  of  worry  already,  in  con- 
nection with  the  repairs  and  accounts,  and  things." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  souls,"  said  Mevrouw  Elizabeth. 

"  Oh ;  ah,  yes,  of  course.  "Will  you  have  some  claret  ?  " 
He  smiled  across  the  table  nervously  to  his  brother,  who, 
on  his  part,  was  praising  everything,  as  in  duty  bound,  to 
Margherita. 

"  Yes,"  said  Margherita.  "  And  for  me,  of  course,  there 
are  many  touching  memories.  But  we  are  going  back  as 
soon  as  possible.  Immediately  after  Christmas.  I  do  not 
like  the  country.  At  least  not  one  which  is  all  white 
blanket.  In  my  home  the  country  was  all  flowers."  She 
turned  to  Guy.  "  How  I  envy  you  at  Leyden,"  she  said, 
"  They  tell  me  that  the  students  have  a  magnificent  library 
there.  You  can  get  all  the  new  books.  Have  you  already 
read — I  am  reading  it — '  Les  Maitresses  a  Papa '  ?  " 

"  X — n — no,"  stammered  her  nephew.  "  I've  asked  for 
it  several  times.  But  some  professor's  always  got  it,  don't 
you  know." 


MARGHERITA'S  DISCOVERY.  233 

"  Well,  you  can  read  it  here.  I  have  brought  it  with 
me.    And  anything  else  you  like.    There  is  a  large  library." 

"  I  should  like  some  of  your  own  poems  best,  aunt,"  re- 
plied Guy  with  a  bow.  He  was  a  fool,  but  his  career  at  the 
University  had  taught  him,  as  he  called  it,  "  liow  to  man- 
age women."  None  but  a  fool  ever  thinks  he  has  learnt 
that. 

"  Flatterer !  Do  you  fancy  I  believe  you  ?  I  reserve 
them  for  Laissa.  It  is  the  bane  of  my  sex  and  my  rank 
combined  that  I  cannot  aspire  to  literary  fame." 

This  was  a  favourite  illusion  of  Margherita.  She  had 
even  embodied  it  in  the  following  lines  : 

"  Vous  me  donnez,  o  dieux,  bicn  plus  que  je  reclame 
Vous  m'ecrasez,  o  dieux.     Quel  bonheur  est  le  mien ! 
Je  suis  poete — assez ! — et  noble — assez  ! — et  femme. 
C'est  trop — car  ce  n'est  rien." 

The  idea  left  an  unlimited  margin  for  dumb-j^oet-ship. 

Young  Eeinout  was  telling  his  neighbour  Topsy  all 
about  the  glories  and  discoveries  of  his  new  abode.  He 
had  barely  stopped  talking  to  her  ever  since  her  arrival, 
and  still  there  was  so  much  to  tell !  Already  had  he  shown 
her  his  "  favourite  "  nooks  and  crannies  and  taken  her  up 
to  the  little  oriel  window  in  the  west  turret,  from  which, 
"  if  you  squeeze  your  neck  round  so  "  ("  Oh  don't,  Kcin  !  I 
can  squeeze  my  own  neck,  please ! ")  "you  can  see  (what 
milksops  girls  are  !)  the  little  spire  there — don't  you  see  ? — 
of  the  church.  And,  oh,  Topsy,  that  reminds  me ;  there's  a 
delightful  old  priest,  who  is  going  to  tell  me  the  names  of 
all  the  animals  in  existence.  You  and  I  must  go  and  see 
him  together."  And  he  had  taken  them  all  to  admire  the 
great  stained-glass  window  in  the  upper  hall.  "  It  is  very 
nicely  done,"  said  Jane,  who  painted  a  little.  The  cousins 
had  wondered  whose  were  the  roses  argent  that  blended 
with  the  other  shield.     But  the  owners  were  dead  as  the 


234  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

roses,  and   their  glory  had  certainly  nothing  in  common 
with  these  upstarts  of  to-day. 

And  now,  at  dinner,  Reinout  was  full  of  the  coming 
festivities,  an  English  Christmas  with  holly  all  over  the 
house  (alas,  mistletoe  is  unattainable)  and  a  genuine  flam- 
ing plum-pudding. — "  As  long  as  I  needn't  touch  it,"  said 
the  Countess  Margherita.  He  was  so  excited  that  he  was 
behaving  badly — he  who  never  had  an  opportunity  of  be- 
having badly ;  the  opportunity  and  the  use  he  made  of  it 
were  things  to  be  thankful  for !  Monsieur  de  Souza  was 
away  for  a  holiday  in  Paris,  "  to  look  np  old  friends,"  he 
had  said  ("  de  vieilles  amies  ").  "  Allez,  my  dear  Chevalier, 
I  understand  you ;  to  make  young  ones."  "  Monsieur, 
what  do  you  think  of  ?  These  things,  in  a  few  years,  they 
will  be  for  your  son."  Well  educated,  well  cared  for,  of 
boundlessly  magnificent  future,  happy  Rene  ! 

So  thought  Mevrouw  Elizabeth.  "  What  a  charming 
pair  they  make,"  she  said  comjilacently  to  her  brother-in- 
law. 

Before  Count  Hiiai'ius  could  answer,  Eeinout,  wheeling 
round  to  whisi^er  in  Topsy's  ear  what  he  had  bought  for  his 
mother,  threw  out  his  arm  and  upset  his  wine-glass  with  a 
great  smashing  splash  over  the  dessert-dishes.  A  sudden 
flame  leaped  up  in  the  Countess's  dark  eyes.  "  Rene,"  she 
cried  in  a  voice  hot  with  passion,  "  leave  the  table  immedi- 
ately. You  are  not  fit  to  sit  down  with  your  aunt !  "  He 
got  u-p  unwillingly :  "  Mamma  !  "  he  began.  "  Silence. 
Your  manners  are  like  a  pig's.  It  makes  me  sick  to  see 
how  you  behave."  He  walked  out  of  the  door,  and  first 
longed  to  slam  it  and  then  closed  it  carefully.  And  as  he 
crept  heavily  upstairs,  he  muttered  :  "  She  has  a  right  to 
send  me  away,  but  not  to  insult  me.  And  who  is  she  to 
talk  of  cochonneries  ?  "  For  he  had  heard  a  whisper — some- 
how ;  who  shall  say  how  in  a  house  of  many  servants  ? — of 
Mademoiselle  de  Cochonnard. 

Well,  he  only  knew  that  the  name  of  his  mother's  noble 


MARGHERITA'S  DISCOVERY.  235 

family  had  originally  been  spelt  and  pronounced  as  above. 
Probably  there  was  some  interesting  story  connected  with 
its  old-time  origin.  Wheu  he  was  older,  he  would  find  out 
what  the  legend  was.  Some  stirring  tale  like  that  of  the 
maiden  Wendela  and  the  grand  old  lion — oh  how  he  loved 
him ! — who  had  come  with  his  flaming  sword  to  set  the 
maiden  free. 

He  locked  himself  in  with  his  dog ;  he  felt  sore,  for  his 
mother  had  publicly  humiliated  him.  And  he  got  together 
his  few  beetles  and  bugs  and  sulked  over  the  boxes  and 
bottles.  It  was  a  new  mania.  And  then  he  leaned  out  on 
the  stone  jjarapet,  over  the  water,  with  his  nose  against 
Prince's,  and  wondered  who  lived  in  the  moon. 

Frederik  van  Eexelaer  found  time  for  a  few  words  of 
quiet  chat  with  his  brother,  as  they  stood  side  by  side  in  the 
smoking-room  over  their  coffee — the  two  young  men  were 
playing  billiards  a  few  paces  off. 

"  What  is  this  that  I  hear  about  an  unpleasantness  at  the 
railway-station  ?  "  he  began,  "  Nothing  really  important,  I 
hope  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Hilarius,  tapping  the  parquet  with 
his  foot.  "  I  wonder  Margherita  was  so  foolish  as  to  men- 
tion it.  She  does  not  take  kindly  to  our  rules  of  implicit 
obedience.     That  is  all." 

"  It  was  not  Margherita  that  I  heard  it  from,  Hilarius. 
Simmans  told  me  of  it,  the  young  Clerk  of  the  Police  Court. 
One  of  his  officials  drew  his  attention  to  the  names." 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  cried  the  Count,  standing  horror- 
struck,  cigar  in  hand.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say  they  are 
going  to  follow  it  up  ?  " 

"  They  evidently  are.  She  will  be  summoned  for  resist- 
ing the  constituted  authorities." 

"  And  locked  up  !  Or  set  to  oakum-picking  !  The  idiots 
who  manage  these  things  in  this  country  are  capable  of  any- 
tliing.     She  is  right.     AVe  should  have  stopped  in  Tirazil  !  " 


236  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

The  Count  stamped  up  and  down  the  room.  The  billiard- 
players  looked  wonderingly  across. 

"  I  would  thank  you,  Ililarius,  to  speak  more  advisedly 
of  the  organisation  of  which  I  form  a  part."  The  meek  lit- 
tle man  was  nettled.  This  prospect  of  a  coming  scandal 
was  anything  but  pleasing  to  him  in  his  official  posi- 
tion. "  It  is  not  the  fine,"  he  added,  "but  the — the  social 
complications.  The  whole  thing  should  never  have  oc- 
curred. " 

"  Then  keep  it  from  going  farther."  The  Count  irrita- 
bly chewed  his  sandy  moustache. 

"  How  can  I  ?  We  do  not  live  under  Louis  XIV.  The 
whole  scandal  will  be  in  all  the  paj^ers  to-morrow.  It  comes 
as  a  Godsend  to  the  Ministry,  who  at  this  moment,  as  you 
know  better  than  I,  are  at  war  with  the  Court-party.  They 
will  make  much  of  it.  '  Scene  at  a  Kailway-Station  ! ' 
'  A  great  Court  Lady  resists  the  Authorities  ! '  Under 
ordinary  circumstances  the  affair  would  be  too  insignificant 
to  mention.  At  this  moment  it  is  almost  a  Political 
Event !  " 

Hilarius  beat  a  tattoo  on  the  border  of  the  billiard-table. 
He  listened  but  abstractedly  to  the  rest  of  his  brother's 
small-talk.  He  was  anxious  for  an  opportunity  to  be  alone 
with  his  wife,  and  as  soon  as  this  presented  itself — in  her 
dressing-room,  late  that  evening — all  his  pent-up  vexation 
burst  forth. 

"  And  if  the  thing  really  becomes  a  weapon  in  the  hand 
of  the  Eadicals,"  he  added,  after  repeating  the  information 
which  Frederik  had  brought  him,  "  I  shall  never  hold  up 
my  head  at  Court  again." 

"Then  stop  it,"  said  the  Countess,  toying  with  her 
bracelet.  She  spoke  with  seeming  indifference,  her  eyes  on 
her  arm,  but  a  flush  played  over  her  sullen  cheek. 

"  Frederik  says  that  is  not  within  his  power." 

"  He  wants  to  make  himself  important  by  magnifying 
the  difficulty.     I  shall  not  ask  him  myself,  but  please  tell 


MARGHERITA'S   DISCOVERY.  237 

him  that  I  expect  him  to  stop  it.  What  else  is  one  a  judge 
for,  even  so  stupid  a  judge  as  he  ?  " 

"  Margherita  !  " 

"  Is  he  a  genius,  your  brother  ?     I  had  not  perceived  it." 

"  No,  he  is  not  a  genius.  Would  that  some  other  peo- 
ple were  not."  He  ground  his  heel  into  the  hearthrug. 
"  Heaven  only  knows  to  what  this  preposterous  business 
may  lead." 

"  If  you  mean  me,"  she  answered  quietly,  lazily  lifting 
her  handsome  head,  "  I  am  not  a  genius.  I  am  a  fool. 
This  is  your  good  fortune.  And  mine.  I  cannot  under- 
stand the  little  ways  of  your  little  country.  I  know  noth- 
ing of  your  party-intrigues.  But  I  am  going  to  be  a  great 
Court  Lady,  Hilarius.     That  was  agreed  when  we  married." 

"  You  are  setting  about  it  in  a  rational  manner ! "  he 
cried,  and  flung  himself  back  against  the  mantelpiece. 

She  took  no  notice.  "  Who  is  the  person  responsible  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"A  man  called  Simmans,  I  understood  Frederik  to  say." 

"  Ask  him  here."     She  shut  her  bracelet  with  a  snap. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

A    COUNTT-MAGXATE. 

"  AxD  now,"  said  Count  van  Eexelaer  to  himself,  as  he 
slowly  drew  his  chair  towards  the  writing-table  and  made 
himself  comfortable,  "  pleasure  " — he  pulled  a  face — "  being 
over,  I  may  give  my  mind  to  business  at  last." 

It  was  true  that  pleasure  was,  for  the  moment,  a  thing 
of  the  past.  The  house  had  grown  quiet  again.  The  Cal- 
endar between  the  windows  marked  an  early  day  in  Janu- 
ary. It  was  one  of  those  calendars  with  a  text  for  every 
day  in  the  year,  and  his  sister  had  given  it  him.  Occasion- 
ally Count  Hilarius's  eyes  would  thoughtfully  linger  over 
the  text. 

The  Freule  van  Eexelaer,  the  two  brothers'  only  sister, 
was  a  timid  maiden  lady,  living  in  a  small  jirovincial  town  on 
a  small  income  and  doing  a  great  deal  of  unnoted  good  with 
it.  She  had  come  to  Deynum  to  see  the  old  year  out,  hav- 
ing declined  to  share  the  Christmas  gaieties,  for  the  simple 
reason,  which  she  wisely  kept  to  herself,  that  to  her  mind 
the  commemoration  of  the  Nativity  should  be  a  religious 
festival.     The  great  house  and  its  splendours  flurried  her. 

"  Oh,  how  thankful  I  am,"  she  said  to  Mevrouw  Eliza- 
beth, "  that  I  have  not  these  servants  to  look  after." 

"  Xot  these  servants.  Xo,"  replied  Mevrouw  Eexelaer- 
Borck  with  due  emphasis.  "  But  people  with  one  servant 
are  always  afraid  of  them.  I  am  not."  She  rested  her 
crochet  on  one  knee,  looking  over  her  nose  at  her  thin 
little  sister-in-law. 


A  COUNTY-MAGNATE.  239 

"  Ah,  but  then  you  are  such  an  excellent  manager,"  said 
the  old  maid  timidly. 

"  I  certainly  see  a  few  things  which  escape  Murgherita's 
attention.  No  fear  of  her  being  worried,  poor  thing  i 
Thank  Heaven,  /  have  eyes."  Mevrouw  van  Eexelaer- 
Borck  was  always  thanking  Heaven,  not  so  much  for  bless- 
ings received  by  herself,  as  for  blessings  withheld  from 
her  friends. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  replied  the  Freule  quickly.  "  And  I 
was  telling  you  about  the  Coffee-stall  Mission  to  Paris  Cab- 
men ;  "  and  so  she  led  the  conversation  on  to  safer  ground. 
Mevrouw  Elizabeth,  who  liked  the  philanthropy  of  circulars 
and  Lady  Patronesses  and  paragraphs  in  the  press,  was 
anxious  to  introduce  the  coffee  stalls  into  the  Hague,  the 
only  difficulty  being  the  absence  of  cabstands.  Perhaps 
these  could  be  created. 

Utterly  dissimilar  as  the  two  ladies  were,  they  had  in 
common  that  sympathy  of  lifelong  surroundings  which  no 
later  intercourse  can  replace.  They  understood  each  other 
when  they  differed.  Xeither  ever  quite  understood  the 
foreign  sister-in-law,  even  when  they  most  appreciated  her 
intentions.  Fortunately  the  Countess  did  not  court  their 
friendship ;  she  lay  in  the  old  Baroness's  simple  boudoir, 
and  Laissa  read  her  frequent  bulletins  from  the  Hague, 
sent  by  the  maid  who  had  charge  of  the  pets.  And  some- 
times they  would  consult  the  cards  to  find  out  when  Me- 
vrouw Kexelaer-Borck  was  going  away.  That  lady  once  sur- 
prised them  at  such  a  moment  and  denounced  the  heathen 
superstition  in  no  measured  terms.  "The  wicked  folly, 
Margherita!"  she  said.  "Why,  /could  tell  you  as  much 
about  the  future  as  these  senseless  bits  of  card."  "  I 
wish  you  would  then,"  replied  the  Countess  meaning- 
ly. Mevrouw  van  Iicxelaer  turned  away  in  lofty  scorn. 
"Does  this  creature  understand  English?"  she  asked. 
She  especially  disliked  Laissa  as  being  more  "  exotic " 
even  than  the  parrot.     Tbe  mulatto  looked   u})  from  the 


240  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

floor,  with  her  great  white  grin.  "  Laissa  no  understand," 
she  said. 

Reinout  introduced  everybody  to  the  Chapel,  in  which 
he  already  took  an  especial  pride.  "  I  hope  you  Avill  alter 
this,  Ililarius,"  said  the  Freule  van  Rexelaer  earnestly,  after 
a  silent  survey  of  the  chancel.  And  then  she  drew  on  her 
galoches  again,  because  the  floor  felt  damp. 

]\[evrouw  Elizabeth  had  expressed  herself  with  more 
commendable  distinctness.  "  This  popish  mummery,"  she 
had  said,  bringing  down  a  heavy  hand  on  the  altar,  "of 
course  must  go.  I  wonder,  girls,  at  your  uncle  having  left 
it  so  long.  And,  good  gracious,  the  flowers  are — fresh !  " 
Not  even  Me^Touw  van  Rexelaer's  indignant  stare  could 
dim  the  pure  sweetness  of  the  chrysanthemums.  Vrouw 
Poster  had  renewed  them,  according  to  custom.  With  an 
extra  prayer  for  vanished  Piet. 

"  Hilarius,"  said  Mevrouw  Elizabeth  in  the  course  of  the 
evening,  "  our  dear  Margherita  has  surely  abjured  the  errors 
of  her  youth." 

Hilarius  colored  painfully.  "  What  do  you  mean,  Eliza- 
beth ? "  he  cried.  "  If  your  mother  has  been  talking 
shameful  slander — " 

"  I  was  alluding  to  the  Scarlet  Woman,"  interposed 
Mevrouw  van  Rexelaer  hastily.  "  To  the  Beast,"  and  then,  in 
answer  to  his  astonished  stare  :  "  Hilarius,  how  can  you  be 
so  ignorant?  I  mean  that  your  wife  is  no  longer  a  Papist, 
but  we  must  not  underrate  early  influences,  and  there  is 
positive  danger  in  these  popish  surroundings.  Unless  you 
take  care  you  will  have  her  going  back  to  her  bead-telling 
and  bone-kissing,  or  whatever  the  people  do.  I  should  not 
speak,  if  it  were  not  for  the  risk  to  Rene.  You  know 
very  well  that  the  Jesuits  have  an  eye  exclusively  to  rich 
men's  sons.  Already  the  old  priest  here  has  made  friends 
with  the  boy.  He  took  Topsy  to  see  the  man,  but  I  forbade 
her  going  again.  He  gave  them  sweets,  Hilarius.  Mark 
my   words.     He  gave   them   sweets."     Deep  down  in  her 


A  COUNTY-MAGNATE.  241 

heart  she  had  an  honest,  though  not  clearly  explicable, 
fear  that  the  sweets — for  the  new  heir  of  Deynuni — might 
be  poisoned ! 

Count  Hilarius  had  been  startled  by  her  evident  good 
faith.  He  had  lived  too  long  in  a  clime  where  all  men  ac- 
knowledged the  same  form  of  religion  without  practising 
any  to  take  note  of  the  flowers  and  frippery  in  a  sacred 
edifice ;  he  was  too  indifferent  to  understand  much  of  the 
fierce  yet  tremulous  distrust  which  still  lingers,  on  the  field 
of  Alva's  achievements,  in  the  hearts  of  the  degenerate 
children  of  a  nation  of  martyrs.  He  had  no  large  experi- 
ence of  pious  women ;  and  yet  he  felt  that  Mevrouw  van 
Rexelaer  was  not  like  his  sister  the  Freule.  But  it  does  not 
require  any  very  active  piety  to  dread  the  idea  of  being 
burned  alive. 

As  he  now  sat  in  the  Baron's  room,  his  eyes  vaguely 
fixed  on  that  old  gentleman's  guns,  Hilarius  reverted  to 
Mevrouw  Elizabeth's  words.  He  wanted  no  complications, 
religious  or  otherwise.  What  he  dreaded  above  all  things 
was  unpleasantness.     It  hampers  one  so. 

His  steward  appeared  before  him,  smooth  and  se- 
rene. 

"  I  have  been  looking  at  the  list  of  the  tenants,"  said 
the  Count,  taking  up  a  paper  from  the  table  before  him. 
"  Most  of  them  I  remember  seeing  at  the  New  Year's  Con- 
gratulation. A  pleasing  custom.  Is  it  general  in  these 
parts  ?  " 

"  At  your  service.  Mynheer  the  Count,"  replied  the 
steward.  "  It  was  always  so  in  the  old — time  of  your  an- 
cestors." 

"  But  there  are  some  names  I  cannot  recall.  Here,  for 
instance,  is  a  man  called  Hummel.     Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  He  is  old  and  bedridden,"  replied  the  steward.  The 
man  was  a  neighbour  of  his  own,  who  often  did  him  good 
service. 

"  Well.     But  here  is  a  large  farm,  the  Chalkhouse.     I 


24i>  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

do  not  remember  the  people  at  all.  '  Driest '  the  name  is. 
What  of  them?" 

The  steward,  who  had  long  been  expecting  this  ques- 
tion, coughed  gently.  "As  Mynheer  the  Count  pleases," 
he  said. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Why  don't  they  come  to  pay 
their  respects  ?  " 

"  Because  they  are — Ah,  I  wish  Mynheer  would  ask 
them  himself — they  have  not  the  proper  feeling  of  the 
other  tenantry." 

"  You  mean  that  they  are  dissatisfied  with  the  new 
order  of  things  ?  " 

"  If  Mynheer  the  Count  pleases  to  put  it  so." 

"  I  understand.  They  pose  as  champions  of  the  old 
regime.  And  the  opposition — about  our  reception — ah, 
you  see  I  know — had  they  a  hand  in  that  ?  " 

"  Mynheer  the  Count  knows  so  much,  it  is  improbable 
that  he  should  not  know  all." 

The  Count  made  a  mark  on  his  register.  "  Why  were 
not  tlie  church-bells  rung  ?  "  he  asked  suddenly. 

The  steward  smiled  a  peculiar  smile.  "  I  am  a  good 
Catholic,  Mynheer,"  he  said.  "  The  affairs  of  the  church 
are  not  mine  to  control." 

And  then  they  discussed  various  matters  pertaining  to 
the  estate.  On  these  occasions  Dievert  found  sufficient  rea- 
son to  regret  the  past,  for  the  new  master  went  into  every 
item  and  never  paid  a  penny  without  knowing  what  for.  He 
even  had  no  ready  perception  of  the  steward's  all-conclusive 
argument  that  "  it  had  always  been  so  in  the  old  Baron's 
time."  Dievert  understood  that  Count  Hilarius  was  no 
gentleman. 

They  were  still  busy  when  Strum  was  announced.  And 
the  one  man  of  business  bowed  himself  out,  as  the  other 
bowed  himself  in. 

The  Count  liked  the  bowing.  This  was  pleasanter  than 
dancing  attendance  on  his  Majesty's  representative  at  the 


A   COUNTY-MAGNATE.  9-t3 

Court  of  the  Sultan  of  Tierra  del  Fuego.  Even  pleasanter 
than  living,  as  an  officer  of  the  Royal  Household,  in  a  dull 
house  on  the  Orange- Canal,  with  a  dark-visaged  wife. 
There  is  no  real  greatness  without  the  territorial  element, 
the  rent-roll,  its  votes  and  all  its  complicated  influence. 
"  In  the  same  family,  you  know,  for  nearly  a  thousand 
years.  Quite  unique."  Count  Rexelaer  felt  kindly  con- 
cerning his  spouse. 

"  Sit  down,  Strum,"  he  said  with  comfortable  gracious- 
ness.  The  Notary  considered  that  his  new  patron  had 
dro]3ped  the  "  Mynheer  "  unconscionably  soon.  He  re- 
called the  time  when  the  Baron  was  wont  to  say  "  Sit  down, 
Strum,"  and  when  he  had  waited  thus,  on  the  edge  of  his 
chair,  and  cracking  his  fingers.  He  would  still  flush  up  to 
the  roots  of  his  red  hair,  by  day  or  niglit,  the  great  clumsy 
booby,  when  his  thoughts  reverted  to  the  last  visit  here, 
and  the  insult  he  had  received.  He  hated  the  Baron  with 
relentless  hate. 

"  I  have  been  looking  through  the  deed  of  purchase,' 
said  the  Count,  rousing  himself,  as  Strum  gave  an  awkward 
little  cough.  "  It  is  plain  enough.  In  his  dying  hours  the 
thoughts  of  the  Countess's  venerable  uncle  were  evidently 
all  of  her  and  her  child.  He  was  deeply  attached  to  my 
little  boy.  That  prohibitory  clause, — how  he  must  have 
chuckled  over  it ! — well,  it  was  a  legitimate  stratagem,  the 
only  means  he  had  of  eluding  the  Baron's  vindictive  oppo- 
sition to  myself." 

Strum  acquiesced,  thinking  to  himself  what  bores  these 
rich  people  were. 

"  The  contract  says  the  Chapel  must  remain  as  it  is. 
Now  what  do  you  take  that  to  mean,  my  good  Notary  ?  " 
"  A  Catholic  place  of  worship,  Mynheer  the  Count." 
"Ah,  it  strikes  you  in  that  light  because  you  are  a 
Romanist  yourself." — "  A  I^omanist,  if  you  will,  but  no 
bigot,"  began  Strum — the  Count  waved  his  hand  benig- 
nantly;    he  did  not  approve  of  being  interrupted  by  his 


244  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

Notary — "  to  me  it  means  '  a  burying- place  of  the  Rexe- 
laers,'  "  he  said. 

Strum  gave  one  of  his  sudden,  sprawling  kicks,  causing 
the  'Count  to  start  aside.  The  Notary  understood  perfectly 
what  the  other  was  driving  at.  "  My  father  used  to  say," 
he  answered  slowly,  "  that  in  law  every  interpretation,  how- 
ever absurd,  must  be  considered  as  if  it  might  be  correct." 

"  I  do  not  consider  this  interpretation  absurd,"  inter- 
rupted the  Count.  He  might  interrupt.  "  On  the  con- 
trary, it  is  the  only  rational  one." 

"  That  is  what  I  mean,"  answered  Strum.  He  took  off 
his  spectacles  and  wiped  them.  And  he  blinked  his  eyes 
before  the  rising  sun.  Never  mind,  he  might  be  as  insolent 
as  he  chose  to  the  Baron,  in  the  shade. 

"  I  sent  for  you,"  continued  the  Count,  "  to  speak  chiefly 
about  another  matter.  AVhere  is  my  cousin  at  present? 
Do  you  happen  to  know  ?  " 

"  I  believe  the  Baron  is  at  Cleves,"  said  Strum. 

"  I  have  an  inventory  here  of  the  things  he  has  taken 
with  him.  It  is  a  great  pity.  They  should  have  gone  with 
the  house.  He  must  want  money.  You  could  not  sound 
him  on  the  subject  ?  " 

"  I  could  write  to  him  directly  in  your  name,  Mynheer 
the  Count."  A  great  leap  of  gi-atification  crossed  the 
Notary's  face. 

"  I  did  not  mean  that.  All  these  things  are  at  present, 
I  am  told,  at  the  parish  priest's  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mynheer  the  Count."  Strum  hated  the  Baron 
too  much  to  willingly  concede  him  so  advantageous  a 
market.  The  Baron's  views  on  the  matter  he  could  not 
bring  himself  to  understand. 

"  That  is  all,"  said  Count  Rexelaer.  "  Good-day."  And 
to  himself  he  added  :  "  A  very  useless  Notary." 

Strum  went  home  in  a  bad  temper.  But,  then,  inter- 
views with  the  great  always  put  him  out  of  sorts.  He  was 
the  worst  kind  of  person  for  a  Notary  ;  other  people's  busi- 


A  COUNTY-MAGNATE.  245 

ness  bored  him.  "  I  am  as  good,"  he  thought  ceaselessl}^ 
"  as  any  of  these."  At  liis  core,  therefore,  he  Avas  dumbly 
overbearing,  as  many  shy  people  are. 

"Your  father  used  to  tell  me  everything,"  said  his 
mother  a  little  complainingly  (a  fond  illusion  on  her  part), 
"  and  he  would  bring  me  such  sweet  messages  from  tlic 
Baroness,  and  pots  of  her  own  orange-preserve." 

"  It  must  taste  very  bitter  in  her  mouth,  if  she's  got  any 
left,"  said  Strum. 

"  She  was  an  Angel,"  protested  his  mother  warmly.  "  I 
wonder  if  this  new  lady  is  also  good." 

"  Good  ?  Of  course  she  is  good.  All  great  ladies  are 
good,  mother,  without  jDro's  or  con's.  It's  only  the  honest, 
hard-working  ones  that  have  to  prove  their  goodness." 

"Nicholas,  Nicholas,"  said  Mrs.  Strum,  gently  shaking 
her  old  head,  "  you  are  very  different  from  your  father." 

Now  these  words  from  a  mother — even  from  Mrs.  Strum 
— bear  a  tacit  reproach  in  them.  Nicholas  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  reproach  from  his  mother.  But  the  "  White 
Baroness  "  was  that  lady's  patron  saint. 

"  We  can't  all  be  like  each  other,"  he  grumbled  roughly. 
"  I'm  as  good  a  man  of  business  as  father  was." 

"  Oh,  yes,  Nicholas.  I  know  you  are  much  cleverer," 
said  Mrs.  Strum,  as  she  took  up  her  stocking  again. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE   TWO    KEIXOUTS    MEET, 

CouxT  HiLAEius  found  Eeinout  enjoying  a  series  of 
lonely  tumbles  on  the  ice.  The  boy  had  reached  that  stage 
of  skating  when  the  tumbles  are  a  dozen  yards  apart.  His 
father  called  him  to  the  side  of  the  pond. 

"  Eene,  I  don't  want  you  to  go  and  see  this  priest  any 
more." 

"  Father  Bulbius  ?  Oh,  papa,  he  is  a  dear  old  man.  He 
has  given  me  a  live  salamander.  And  he  knows  all  about 
the  Castle,  and  the  people  that  used  to  live  here.  And  he 
tells  such  beautiful  stories.  There  was  a  little  girl  here 
once.     Have  you  heard  about  Lady  Bertha's  oak  ?  " 

"  Xo.  But  I  don't  want  you  to  go  and  see  him  again. 
By  the  bye,  did  he  ever  speak  to  you  about  the  Chapel  in 
the  Grounds  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Papa,  the  day  after  Christmas.  He  told  me  it 
was  the  first  time  in  five-and-twenty  years  that  he  hadn't 
said  mass  there  on  Christmas  day.  He  looked  very  sorry ; 
I  thought  he  was  going  to  cry." 

"  Just  so.  Xow,  Eeinout,  you  will  promise  me  never  to 
go  and  talk  to  this  man  again.  And  there  is  another  thing. 
I  don't  like  your  skating  about  in  this  manner  all  alone. 
You  must  always  have  one  of  the  men  with  you.  Kow 
promise  about  the  priest." 

Such  a  sullen  look  spread  over  the  boy's  dark  face  that 
his  father  noticed  it.  "  My  dearest  child,"  said  Count 
Hilarius,  drawing  his  son  towards  him,  "  cannot  you  believe 


THE  TWO  REINOUTS  MEET.  247 

that  I  am  acting  for  your  best?  You  are  the  sole  hope  and 
pride  of  my  life,  Rene,  the  one  thing  I  love  with  all  my 
heart.  If  anything  happened  to  you — "  his  voice  shook, 
'*  there  would  be  nothing  left  worth  living  for." 

Reinout  stood  silently  looking  down  at  his  skates.  Pres- 
ently something  drew  up  his  eyes — rather  against  his  will — 
to  his  father's  bended  face.  And  he  said,  illogically,  but 
with  great  earnestness  :  "  I  will.  Papa."  Xevertheless,  he 
was  angry.  Only  the  rare  display  of  the  Count's  affection 
always  melted  his  heart  as  sunshine  tinges  the  snow.  He 
loved  his  father,  perhaps  not  quite  as  energetically  as  he 
loved  Prince,  because  Prince  and  he  understood  each  other 
so  much  better.  But,  then,  Prince  was  a  dog ;  the  com- 
parison was  absurd.     Reinout  did  not  make  it. 

He  called  after  Count  Hilarius's  retreating  figure.  "  I 
must  go  and  say  goodbye.  Papa,"  he  said,  "  and  explain." 

The  Count  had  a  habit  of  considering  his  son's  entire 
existence,  in  its  pleasure  and  profit,  from  the  parental  point 
of  view.  "  No,"  he  called  back,  "  it  would  be  better  not. 
Explanations,  Reinout,  are  usually  a  mistake  !  " 

"  Oh,  but  I  shall,"  said  Reinout  to  himself.  Obedience 
has  its  limits,  and  the  child's  education,  if  it  had  taught 
him  anything,  had  taught  him  that  courtesy  transcends  it. 
He  ran  off  in  the  direction  of  the  village. 

Already  he  had  many  friends  in  the  village,  where  he 
had  fraternised  with  the  lame  child  first,  and  then,  through 
him,  with  the  other  boys.  These  country  lads  had  a  de- 
lightful acquaintance  with  the  wondrous  world  around 
them,  on  whose  threshold  he  stood  entranced.  And,  al- 
though his  intercourse  with  them  might  seem  somewhat 
awkward,  yet  he  was  always  splendid  in  his  own  queer  way 
and  certainly  far  preferred  his  new  companions  to  the  gen- 
teel children  at  the  Hague  who  mocked  "  his  gracious 
Majesty."  The  transfer  to  Deynum  had  given  him  a 
glimpse  of  reality  :  the  Life  of  Nature,  the  Life  Unmasked. 
He  liked  the  face. 


248  THE  GREATER  GLORY, 

He  threw  a  smile  to  Tony,  behind  the  narrow  cottage- 
panes,  as  he  ran  on  towards  the  Parsonage.  He  had  prom- 
ised the  boy  an  old  box  of  soldiers  of  his  own ;  he  must 
bring  it  to-morrow.  It  was  a  beautiful  thing  to  be  rich  and 
great  and  patronise.  The  threatening  beggar  had  been 
quite  wrong.  The  great  lord  shone  at  the  Castle  and  the 
world  beneath  his  feet  lay  flourishing  in  his  smile.  Monsieur 
de  Souza  had  explained  it  all. 

He  ran  through  the  Parsonage  garden,  round  by  the 
stables  to  the  good  Priest's  study.  He  knew  the  way  well 
by  this  time.  But  in  the  door  he  suddenly  checked  him- 
self. An  old  gentleman  was  sitting  thoughtfully  by  the 
fire.  The  old  gentleman  looked  up  at  the  intruder,  frowned, 
hesitated,  and  recovered  himself. 

"  Father  Bulbius  is  out,"  said  the  old  gentleman  shortly. 

Reinout  bowed  and  apologised,  with  that  ready  courtesy 
which  young  people  found  so  exasperating,  but  which  old 
ones  were  unable  to  resist  in  this  our  latter-day  of  ill-breed- 
ing. 

As  he  was  going,  said  the  old  gentleman  with  an  effort : 
"  I  suppose  they  call  you  Eeinout  van  Rexelaer  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mynheer,"  replied  Reinout. 

"Father  Bulbius  has  told  me  a  great  deal  about  you," 
said  the  Baron.  And  then  he  added,  as  if  talking  to  him- 
self, "  But  I  pity  the  child  I  "  and  Reinout  crept  away  be- 
wildered. 

The  evening  before,  the  good  Father  had  sat,  in  all  the 
cosiness  of  drawn  curtains  and  howling  winds,  warming  his 
feet  against  the  stove  and  his  hands  around  his  glass  of 
steaming  grog.  The  kettle  was  singing  its  agreeable  prom- 
ise of  more.  Father  Bulbius  felt  comfortable  though  lonely. 
For  Veronica  was  away  on  her  yearly  visit  to  her  friends  in 
town. 

"  A  holiday  for  me,"  Veronica  used  to  say  with  some 
truth,  "  means  two  days  of  extra  hard  work."     Undeniably, 


THE  TWO  REINOUTS  MEET.  249 

the  catastrophe  of  the  year  in  the  Father's  small  household 
whatever  it  might  happen  to  be,  would  always  choose  the 
thirty-six  hours  of  Veronica's  absence  to  occur  in.  Never- 
theless did  she  amply  enjoy  her  excursion  on  account  of  the 
manifold  occasions  for  grumbling  it  was  bound  to  afford. 
And  the  Father  enjoyed  his  brief  liberty  in  the  pleasant 
prospect  of  her  return. 

He  was  sitting  now  luxuriating  in  the  tranquil  sadness 
of  his  reflections.  There  was  much  to  grieve  him  in  his 
present  circumstances,  and  it  pleased  him  to  dwell  thereon. 
The  new  master  of  Deynum,  though  indiSerence  itself  in  all 
matters  religious,  had  yet  given  encouragement,  by  the 
very  fact  of  his  Protestantism,  to  the  persecuted  here- 
tics of  the  village.  They  were  beginning  to  hold  up 
their  heads,  and  even — distinctly — to  crow.  And  it  was 
reported  that  the  Baroness  Borck  of  Kollingen — that 
Jezebel — had,  during  a  state-visit  at  the  Castle,  succeeded 
in  arousing  its  owner's  interest  by  a  terrible  account  of 
the  poor  "Beggars'"  sufferings  and  the  bad  impression 
these  sufferings  had  created  in  the  neighbourhood.  The 
Baroness  Borck  had  been  anxious  for  years  to  get  a  Protes- 
tant pastor  appointed  to  Deynum,  her  own  minister  find- 
ing the  double  duty  too  heavy.  Count  Rexelaer,  in  his 
eagerness  to  conciliate  the  great  people  around  him, 
would  probably  accede  to  her  request,  and  a  rival  parson- 
age-house would  arise  on  the  village  green.  Meanwhile 
the  Count  had  closed,  and  double-locked,  the  small  chapel 
in  the  grounds. 

Father  Bulbius  sighed,  and  gently  sipped  his  grog.  To- 
morrow evening  Veronica  would  mix  it.  There  would  be 
less  rum,  but  boiling  water. 

He  was  roused  from  his  slumbrous  regrets  by  a  gentle 
knock  at  the  front-door.  It  was  ten  o'clock,  and  an  ugly, 
windy,  snow-tormented  night.  He  started  to  his  feet,  lias- 
tily  swallowing  the  too  darkly  coloured  mixture  ;  his  one 
thought  was  that  something  must  have  happened  to  bring 


250  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

Verouica  back.  Only  she  seemed  to  him  strangely  patient, 
as  he  slowly  stumbled  to  the  door. 

He  opened  it,  and  there  stood  the  Baron  van  Eexelaer. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Bulbius  ?  "  said  the  Baron.  "  Any- 
body with  you  besides  Veronica  ?  " 

Father  Bulbius  burst  into  tears. 

"  Tut,  tut,"  said  the  Baron,  and  hastily  walked  into  the 
Sanctum. 

When  Father  Bulbius  joined  him  there  a  moment  later, 
he  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  He  had  taken 
the  shade  from  the  lamp  and  its  full  glare  fell  on  all  the 
piled-up  lumber  from  the  castle.  He  looked  much  the 
same  as  ever,  excepting  that  perhaps  his  bearing  was  a  trifle 
more  erect  than  in  those  last  slow  months  of  his  suspense. 
As  the  priest  stole  in,  he  turned  and  replaced  the  lamp-shade. 
"  Well,  and  how  are  you  getting  on  ?  "  he  said.  "  x^ny- 
thing  new  in  the  village?"  Oh  yes,  there  were  several 
things  new  in  the  village.  Father  Bulbius  only  muttered 
the  name  of  some  old  creature  recently  dead. 

"  Dead,"  repeated  the  Baron  meditatively.  He  walked 
up  the  room  once,  and  down  it  again,  and  then,  stopping 
abruptly :  "  May  I  take  off  my  cloak  ?  "  he  asked.  Father 
Bulbius  fell  forward  in  the  eagerness  of  his  response.  He 
hung  up  the  Baron's  hat,  without  knowing  it,  on  one 
knight's  protruding  visor,  and  over  another's  mailed  shoul- 
ders he  carefully  and  awkwardly  spread  his  patron's  well- 
remembered  queer-fashioned  Inverness.  The  dead  soldier 
looked  worse  than  grotesque  under  his  plaid-lined  mantle; 
he  looked  dumbly  insulted.  The  Baron  went  over  and  re- 
moved it. 

"  The  damp,  you  know,"  he  said  apologetically,  and  be- 
gan softly  polishing  the  shining  metal.  Father  Bulbius's 
soul  burned  with  sudden  shame. 

He  plied  his  guest  with  a  number  of  questions,  while 
pressing  upon  him  the  slippers  he  had  just  taken  from  his 
own  feet.     "  I  have  others,"  he  said,  and  went  into  his  bed- 


THE   TWO   REINOUTS  MEET.  251 

room,  and  came  back  with  a  pair  of  galoches.  And  then, 
in  sudden  alarm  at  his  overflow  of  curiosity,  he  excused  it 
with  the  necessity  of  finding  out  the  Baron's  requirements. 
"And  when  has  your  Nobleness  eaten  last?"  he  said. 
"  Ah,  but  I  dread  that  the  house  contains  nothing  but 
bread." 

"  I  want  nothing,  my  friend,"  said  Mynheer  Eexelaer. 
"  Mevrouw  and  the  child  are  well,  like  myself.  But  how 
about  Veronica  ?     I  miss  her." 

"  Your  Nobleness  does  her  too  much  honour.  She  has 
gone  to  see  her  relations.     Her  usual  visit,  you  remember." 

"  Oh  certainly,"  rejilied  the  Baron.  "  I  hope  she  will 
find  her  aunt  in  health.  It  is  fortunate,  perhaps,  that  she 
should  not  be  here.  Ah  no,  I  forgot;  it  is  unfortunate," 
he  added,  rising  hastily,  and  making  for  the  door. 

Father  Bulbius  intercepted  him  with  wonderful  plump 
alacrity.  "  The  room  upstairs  is  ready,"  he  said,  "  or  will 
be  in  a  minute.  As  for  supper,  I  will  run  over  and  see  if 
Hendrika — " 

"  No,  no,  my  good  Father.  To  tell  you  the  truth  I  had 
not  intended  to  disturb  you.  The  last  train  having  brought 
me  to  Deynum,  I  found  myself  unexpectedly  in  your  porch. 
But  it  is  quite  time  I  left  you  in  peace,  and  so  I  am  going 
away  again."  He  got  his  cloak  and  hat,  overhearing  the 
Father's  anxious  "Whither?"  and  stumbled  along  the  pas- 
sage. The  Father  followed  in  desperation.  "  But  shall  I 
not  see  your  Nobleness  again?"  he  almost  sobbed.  Sud- 
denly the  other  turned  and  caught  both  his  hands.  "  I  am 
behaving  like  a  brute  and  a  fool,"  he  said  thickly.  "  It  is  a 
great,  true  happinesss  to  see  your  face  again.  May  I  stay, 
in  spite  of  Veronica's  absence?  In  spite  of  all  the  trouble 
I  shall  give?" 

"Don't,"  replied  the  Father,  vainly  trying  to  steady  the 
workings  of  his  gutta-percha  cheeks. 

"But  one  thing  you  promise  me.  It  is  already  past 
your  bedtime.     You  go  now,  as  if  Veronica  were  here,  and 


252  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

you  leave  me  to  sit  up  as  long  as  I  like — amoug  these." 
He  pointed  to  his  re-found  treasures. 

"  But  there  is  so  much  to  speak  of,"  pleaded  Bulbius. 

"  There  is  not,"  repeated  the  Baron,  wearily  reseating 
himself.  "  To  tell  truth,  I  feel  nowise  inclined  for  sleep. 
I  may  take  a  short  turn  presently  ;  I  like  the  snow.  Never 
mind  me.     I  shall  not  set  the  house  on  fire." 

"  The  whole  house  is  at  your  Xobleness's  service,"  said 
Bulbius,  He  ^ould  say  that,  freely,  for  the  next  f our-and- 
twenty  hours.  "  But  see.  Mynheer  the  Baron,  it  is  not  yet 
eleven  ?  " 

The  Baron  looked  into  his  face  and  actually  laughed : 
"  And  when  was  Father  Bulbius  ever  known  to  resume  his 
game — "  he  asked — "  when  once  the  Castle-clock  " — the 
laugh  died  from  his  voice — "  had  struck  the  hour  of  ten  ?  " 

"  To-day,"  said  the  Father  boldly,  spreading  his  fat  fin- 
gers on  the  table,  "  to-day,  if  your  Xobleness  pleases,  he  will 
play  as  long  as  you  like." 

"  Nonsense,  Bulbius,  you  never  had  a  card  in  your 
house." 

For  only  answer  the  priest  went  to  his  cupboard.  "  I 
have  been  obliged  of  late,"  he  said  apologetically,  "  to  play 
a  little  ecarte  by  myself  of  nights.  But  I  find  it  very  dull 
work." 

"  So  I  can  understand,"  replied  the  Baron  quite  seriously, 
as  he  shuffled  the  cards.  The  old  antagonists  had  settled 
down  to  their  game,  almost  before  they  realized  what  they 
were  doing.  It  came  as  a  relief  from  a  well-nigh  unendur- 
able strain. 

The  wind  struck  against  the  casement,  as  they  bent 
by  the  lamp.  Father  Bulbius  looked  up  apprehensively. 
"  Only  bluster,"  said  the  Baron,  "  I  mark  the  King."  And 
in  another  moment  the  player's  ambition  had  got  hold  of 
them  and  both  were  anxious  to  win.  The  Baron  became  so 
increasingly  successful,  that  Father  Bulbius  could  hardly 
resist  feeling  a  little  annoyed.     But  no  interest  in  his  cards 


THE  TWO  REINOUTS  MEET.  253 

could  keep  his  sleepy  head  from  noddiug,  and  at  one  time 
he  had  six  cards  in  his  hand,  and  about  midnight  he  re- 
voked. Then  the  Baron  got  up.  "  Just  a  whilf  of  air  ! " 
he  said.  "  It  will  do  me  good.  Give  me  your  key,  Bul- 
bius,  and  if  I  find  you  up  when  I  come  back,  I  depart  for 
good  and  all,  as,  perhaps,  I  ought  to  have  done  at  first. 
Good-night." 

The  Father  let  him  go  and  then  set  about  preparing  the 
guest-chamber.  A  couple  of  the  most  richly  framed  lords 
and  ladies  which  had  been  deposited  here,  he  dragged  away, 
with  much  labour  and  some  damage  to  gilding,  into  Ve- 
ronica's chamber.  "  Let  the  poor  gentleman  sleep,  if  he 
can,"  he  said ;  he  knew  well  enough  where  the  Baron  was 
gone.  He  came  down,  wiping  his  hot  face.  There  was  oil 
in  the  lamp  ;  the  fire  would  smoulder  on  indefinitely.  He 
sent  up  a  little  petition  to  his  patron  Saint  to  remind  the 
hens  of  their  duty  for  the  morrow,  and  then — at  last ! — he 
sank  on  the  bed  to  await  his  guest's  return,  and  in  another 
moment  was  fast  asleep. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

A    STKAXGE    LIGHT   AXD    XEW    DARKXESS. 

Meaxwhile  the  Baron  van  Eexelaer  walked  rapidly 
through  the  wind  and  dark.  He  had  waited  for  the  dark. 
"  I  shall  take  the  last  train,"  he  had  said  to  the  Baroness, 
"  and  go  to  the  inn.  So  doing,  I  shall  see  nobody  till  to- 
morrow." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  the  Baroness.  She  could  not  under- 
stand this  j)ostponement  of  the  inevitable.  The  quiet  lady 
had  steeled  her  heart  in  reposeful  pride. 

But  the  Baron,  although  unable  to  explain  himself,  felt 
that  between  to-day  and  to-morrow,  if  we  live  by  emotions, 
would  lie  a  long  period  of  time.  He  must  first  see  the  place 
again,  aloue ;  he  must  fight  his  fight.  When  he  had  hur- 
ried away,  three  months  ago,  he  had  hoped  never  to  return. 
Which  of  us,  having  buried  our  dead  out  of  our  sight,  would 
bid  love  lift  the  coffin-lid  ? 

"  I  onust  consult  with  Bulbius,  but  I  shall  not  go  up  to 
the  Castle."  This  thought  had  repeatedly  risen  to  his  lips ; 
he  had  checked  it ;  he  did  not  want  his  courageous  wife  to 
consider  him  a  coward.  He  crossed  over  to  her  and  kissed 
her  on  the  forehead  where  she  sat  in  her  high-backed  chair 
by  the  poor  little  Pension-window. 

That  was  not  much  more  than  half-a-dozen  hours  ago. 
He  had  promised  his  wife  to  eat  something  on  his  arrival ; 
he  did  not  like  breaking  even  a  trivial  promise  to  his  wife. 
He  ought  not  to  have  minded  giving  Bulbius  a  little  trouble. 
"  I  am  a  coward,"  thought  the  good  gentleman,  as  he  walked 


A  STRANGE   LIGHT  AND  NEW  DARKNESS.       255 

on  through  the  silence.  After  midnight  all  Deynum,  ex- 
cept its  watchman,  was  asleep.  Sometimes  the  watchman 
also. 

In  another  moment  he  passed  under  the  shadow  of  his 
own  trees.  Here  the  night  lay  j^itchy  dark,  in  spite  of  the 
driving  snow,  which  melted  as  it  fell.  The  Baron,  hasten- 
ing unhesitatingly  on,  emerged  into  the  avenue.  Then, 
suddenly,  he  became  aware  of  a  light  approaching  at  the 
farther  end  and  stopped,  disconcerted.  Should  he  go  back  ? 
As  he  stood  staring  stupidly  at  this  twinkle  in  the  distance, 
he  became  aware  that  it  was  stationary,  and  then  he  under- 
stood. An  innovation.  A  lantern  by  the  bridge.  And  in 
that  small  discovery  the  hopelessness  of  his  loss  fell  upon 
him  as  it  had  never  fallen  before. 

"  They  need  not  have  broken  their  necks  any  sooner 
than  we  did,"  he  muttered,  bitterly.  And  presently  he 
stood  beside  the  water,  shrinking  from  the  tell-tale  bright- 
ness of  a  varnished  street-lamp  of  Margherita's  erecting. 
Another  glimmered  half-way  down  the  "  Cour  d'honneur." 
Eight  opposite  towered  the  black  mass  of  the  Castle,  with 
the  wind  howling  round  it,  a  melancholy  wail. 

The  snow,  which  had  been  falling  all  night  in  fitful 
sweeps,  now  slowly  checked  itself,  and,  among  lifting  clouds, 
the  outlines  of  the  stately  building  stood  dimly  forth  in  a 
changeful  play  of  light  and  shade.  And  instantaneously 
the  whole  of  it,  each  nook  and  angle  and  curl  of  tracery, 
shone  out  into  the  darkness,  illumined  by  his  love.  We  are 
but  sensuous  creatures  ;  talk  as  we  will  of  visions  of  the 
mind,  we  see  with  our  poor  physical  sight  and  with  very 
little  else.  He  stood  staring,  staring,  as  if  his  eyes  could 
never  drink  their  fdl,  and  then  a  veil  crept  over  them. 
When  he  looked  again,  the  vision  was  newly  shrouded  in 
darkness  ;  only  a  dull  broad  shaft  still  fell,  from  where  the 
clouds  were  closing,  across  old  Atlas,  on  the  topmost  pin- 
nacle, bending  beneath  his  world  of  cares.  Another  mo- 
ment, and  this  ray  also  hud  sunk  from  sight ;  the  snow  be- 


250  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

gau  to  thiekeu  upon  the  lessening  wind.  With  a  shuddering 
sigh  the  Baron  turned  to  go.  Ever  afterwards  he  remem- 
bered that  parting  glimpse  of  the  patient  hero,  beneath  the 
drooping  sky. 

"  Away,"  he  said  softly. 

He  crossed  the  sward,  not  without  anxious  glances  to- 
wards the  windows,  behind  which  Hilarius  and  Margherita 
were  peacefully  slumbering,  arid  crept  towards  the  Holy 
Walk.  Before  returning  to  the  Parsonage  he  must  stand 
for  one  brief  moment — and  one  brief  prayer — among  the 
dead,  in  their  unbroken  rest.  That  alone  would  calm  him. 
"  I  am  a  vainglorious  old  fool  to  have  come,"  he  told  him- 
self. And  he  thought  of  that  repose  which  no  agony  of 
wounded  jDride  can  ruffle,  and  which  comes  so  soon  to  all. 

Xo  light  was  burning  in  the  chancel.  He  tried  the 
door ;  it  was  locked.  Never  had  the  lamp  hung  thus  ex- 
tinguished during  all  the  years  the  Baron  could  recall. 
"  They  light  up  thei-r  own  yard  !  "  he  said  aloud,  "  God 
help  me  ;  I  am  becoming  the  bitterest  of  men  I  " 

Half  an  hour  later  he  was  back  in  Father  Bulbius's 
sanctum.  Walking  on  tip-toe,  he  softly  stirred  the  dying 
embers  and  drew  forward  a  chair.  The  lamp  burned  low. 
The  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  struck  half-past  one.  And 
the  sound  suddenly  told  him  that  the  stable-clock  at  Dey- 
num  had  not  struck  while  he  was  out.  He  rose  in  some 
perturbation,  wondering  if  anything  could  be  wrong  with  it. 
And  then  he  laughed  ;  what  was  Count  Rexelaer's  stable- 
clock  to  this  stranger  and  sojourner  ? 

No,  he  was  more  than  that.  Come  what  might,  he  was 
still  the  last  of  Deynum's  historic  lords.  He  strengthened 
himself  in  his  seat,  and  then,  drawing  a  bunch  of  keys  out 
of  his  pocket,  opened  an  oak  chest  which  stood  near.  The 
keys  of  the  Castle  he  could  lose  and  had  lost,  but  not 
these. 

Presently  Father  Bulbius,  awakening  in  dismay  and 
discomfort,  saw  a  light  streaming  through  the  chinks,  and 


A  STRANGE   LIGHT   AND   NEW   DARKNESS.        257 

seized  his  unloaded  revolver.  And  then  he  remembered 
that  he  himself  had  left  the  lamj)  on  the  table.  "Dear 
me,"  he  said,  '•  I  must  have  had  a  few  minutes'  nap,"  and 
he  rolled  off  the  bed,  and  was  making  for  the  door  when 
his  attention  was  arrested  by  the  rustle  of  paper.  Letting 
himself  down  somewhat  laboriously  to  the  keyhole,  he  saw 
in  the  gathering  gloom  of  the  silent  study  the  Baron  van 
Eexelaer,  with  parchments  and  papers  heaped  untidily 
around  him,  a  yellow  charter  upon  his  knee.  The  Father 
crept  back  softly  into  bed. 


CHAPTEE   XXXVI. 

THE   HEAD    OF   THE    HOUSE. 

Next  morning,  over  their  frugal  breakfast,  tlie  Baron 
explained  to  Bulbius  the  object  of  his  coming.  On  leaving 
Deyuum  he  had  still  lacked  fifty  thousand  florins  to  pay  off 
his  debts.  This  money,  not  being  able  to  touch  the 
"  Lady's  Dole,"  he  had  found  himself  obliged  to  borrow 
at  ruinous  interest,  for  six  months.  Not  to  have  done  so 
would  have  meant  bankruptcy,  disgrace. 

"  Bankruptcy  is  not  always  disgrace,"  interposed  the 
Father,  who  prided  himself  on  his  knowledge  of  the  world. 
"  Yours  would  not  have  been." 

"  This  loan,  in  any  ease,  must  be  paid  off,"  said  the 
Baron,  "  before  it  reduces  us  to  beggary.  So  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  to  sell  whatever  trumpery  I  still  possess.  I 
can't  help  it.  It's  no  use  fighting  any  longer  against 
fate." 

What  could  the  Father  reply  ?  Three  months  ago  he 
had  advocated  this  sale.  And  the  Baron  had  answered : 
Never  to  the  one  man  who  would  buy.  Father  Bulbius 
regretted  the  Baron  was  so  bad  a  man  of  business. 

Confessor  though  he  was,  he  knew  nothing  of  his  pa- 
tron's money-transactions.  Do  we  ever  confess  ?  Even  to 
ourselves  ? 

"No  use  fighting  against  fate,"  repeated  the  Baron 
thoughtfully,  and  then  suddenly  he  burst  out :  "  Observe 
my  strange  experience  with  the  Marquis  de  la  Jolais  !  I 
cannot  make  him  out  at  all.  It  looks  as  if  he  did  it  on 
purpose.     And  if  so,  he  acted  a  lie." 


THE  HEAD   OF   THE   HOUSE.  259 

"  I  fear  that  is  the  only  explanation,  Mynheer,"  assented 
Father  Bulbius  mournfully. 

"  So  the  Baroness  tells  me,  and  the  Baroness  is  always 
right.  But  I  cannot  understand  it !  A  la  Jolais !  Surely 
gentlemen  do  not  lie  !  " 

The  Baron  held  a  view — not  a  theory,  for  he  did  not 
consciously  theorise — that  men  were  turned  out  in  groups, 
like  machine-made  statuettes.  A  soldier  was  a  soldier ;  a 
sailor  a  sailor,  and  so  on.  Each  group  had  its  inevitable 
virtues — and  vices,  but  the  Baron  noticed  the  virtues 
most. 

He  was  agitated  now ;  all  references  to  Count  Rexelaer's 
vile  stratagem  or  marvellous  good  fortune  upset  him.  Fa- 
ther Bulbius  stole  away  on  the  plea  of  ordering  some  din- 
ner from  Hendrika,  the  landlady.  It  was  during  his  ab- 
sence that  Reinout  unexpectedly  appeared  before  the  Baron, 
Eeinout,  whose  praises  the  Father  had  discreetly  brought 
forward  by  an  occasional  word  in  a  letter,  a  word  that  said 
little  and  left  much  to  be  divined.  "  I  pity  the  child,"  said 
the  Baron.  He  did  not  allude  to  the  subject  when  the 
Father  came  back.  Together  they  began  looking  over  the 
scattered  heirlooms  and  appraising  them.  Some  of  the 
pictures  were  valuable ;  the  costliest  plate  had  already  been 
disposed  of  before.  Both  realized,  with  growing  distinct- 
ness, that  fifty  thousand  florins  is  a  very  large  sum. 

They  were  so  occupied  that  a  loud  ring  at  the  front 
door  came  upon  them  with  a  start  of  alarm.  "  Possibly  a 
tramp,"  said  the  Father.  The  villagers  usually  went  round 
to  the  back,  there  to  be  barked  at  by  the  now  absent  Ve- 
ronica.    Nobody  ever  rang. 

"With  rumpled  hair  and  dusty  cassock  Father  Bulbius 
went  to  open  the  door.  His  grumble  changed  to  an  un- 
comfortable smile  of  recognition  in  the  presence  of  Count 
Hilarius  van  Rexelacr.  That  gentleman  had  never  called  at 
the  Parsonage  before. 

"  This  way,  if  you  please.  This  is  my  '  state  '-room, 
38 


200  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

Heer  Count,"  cried  the  Father  iu  a  flurr}',  shutting  one 
door  and  opening  another.  The  visitor  entered  an  apart- 
ment whose  chill  glories — the  pride  of  Veronica's  cleansing 
— froze  the  marrow  iu  his  bones.  Count  llilarius  was  a 
Southernized  Hollander.     He  looked  round  in  dismay. 

"  Take  a  seat,  M^'uheer  the  Count,"  said  the  Father, 
benignly. 

The  Count's  teeth  chattered.  He  had  intended  to  be 
circumsjiect,  but  the  cold  made  him  forget  his  diplomacy. 
"  I  came  to  ask  you,  Mynheer,"  he  said  brusquely,  "  about 
the  articles  which  have  been  removed  from  the  Castle  and 
which  you  have  in  your  keeping." 

"  They  were  excluded  by  the  contract,  Mynheer,"  cried 
Bulbius  in  a  flutter. 

The  Count  arched  his  sandy  eyebrows.  "  I  should 
hardly  have  waited  so  long,"  he  said,  "had  that  not  been 
the  case.  But  I  am  anxious,  if  possible,  to  acquire  them. 
Strum  says  all  the  cupboards  are  locked,  but  I  should  like 
to  see  the  other  things."     He  paused  inquiringly. 

"  That  is  quite  impossible,"  replied  Father  Bulbius  with 
a  vehemence  born  of  agitation.  "  I  may  show  them  to  no 
one." 

Count  Hilarius  felt  the  cold  settling  on  his  bald  head. 
He  put  on  his  hat,  and  he  also  rose  from  the  red  velvet  sofa. 

"  You  misapprehend  me,"  he  said  stiffly.  "  I  wish  only 
to  see  the  pictures,  the  armour,  etcetera.  All  these  things 
are  heirlooms  which  should  remain  with  the  family,  and 
sliould  never  have  left  the  Castle.  I  am  going  to  offer  my 
cousin,  Baron  Rexelaer,  to  re-pnrchase  them." 

"  I  can  show  you  nothing,  Mynheer  the  Count,"  repeated 
Bulbius  in  a  tremble.  "  I  am  very  sorry.  It  is  quite  out  of 
the  question."     Would  his  visitor  never  go  ? 

But  the  visitor,  who  had  only  been  one  moment  in  the 
house,  already  felt  quite  willing  to  leave  it.  He  was  furious 
at  this  behaviour  from  his  parish  priest,  and  he  hurried  out 
into  the  hall,  drawing  his  fur-coat  around  him. 


THE  HEAD  OF  THE  HOUSE.  201 

lu  his  haste — or  was  it  done  intentioually? — he  threw 
opeu  the  wrong  door  and  walked  straiglit  into  the  Sanctum. 
Tlie  Baron  was  not  there — Bulbius  gave  a  gasp  of  relief — 
but  the  whole  room  was  littered  with  his  treasures. 

Count  van  Rexelaer's  eyes  travelled  slowly  over  the  open 
cupboards  and  boxes  and  their  scattered  contents.  At  last 
they  arrested  their  pale  gaze  on  the  Father's  burning  face, 
and  Bulbius  read  an  accusation  in  them  Avhich  was  simply 
monstrous. 

"  I  had  understood  that  these  receptacles  were  locked," 
said  Count  Eexelaer  at  last.  "  If  their  owuer  left  them  in 
this  peculiar  condition,  he  cannot  have  attached  much  im- 
portance to  their  contents." 

Father  Bulbius  felt  utterly  annihilated. 

"  If,"  repeated  the  Count  with  unmistakable  stress. 
Meanwhile  his  eyes  literally  danced  and  gloated  over  all 
these  glories  of  his  house.  He  had  never  beheld  any  of 
them  before. 

"  The  Baron  begged  me  to  ari'ange  them,"  stammered 
Bulbius. 

"Indeed?  And  do  you  do  so  every  day?"  Count 
Hilarius  was  furious  to  think  of  these  inestimable  splen- 
dours abandoned  to  an  ignorant  and  unscrupulous  priest. 
He  had  brought  away  with  him  from  Rio  the  conviction 
that  all  priests  were  unscrupulous.  He  stamped  his  foot  in 
his  agitation.  "  I  distinctly  understood  from  Strum,"  he 
continued,  "  that  these  cases  were  locked." 

"  You  accuse  me  of  neglecting  my  trust,  Mynheer  ? " 
cried  the  Father,  losing  patience. 

"  I  said  no  such  thing.  Had  I  wished  to  do  so,  I  should 
not  have  used  the  word  '  neglecting.'  " 

"  Violating,  perhaps?"  screamed  the  Father,  Ixtuiidiug 
like  a  fiery  ball.  He  cast  prudence  to  the  winds.  O  tliis 
Protestant  upstart !  All  the  wrongs  of  the  flock  flared  up 
in  the  shepherd's  heart,  like  tallow  round  a,  wick. 

"  You  forget  yourself,"  said  the  Count  stiffly.     "  I  came 


202  TliE  GREATER  GLORY. 

here  because  I  am  anxious  Baron  Rexelaer  should  be  in- 
formed of  my  offer  to  purchase  these  articles  for  which  he 
can  have  no  further  accommodation.  If  that  be  part  of 
your  duty  as  a  caretaker  " — he  had  all  a  little  soul's  spite, 
and  Avas  now  intentionally  insulting — "  have  the  goodness 
to  transmit  my  message  immediately.  I  should  certainly 
have  preferred,  if  possible,  his  answering  me  himself."  He 
leant  against  the  same  inlaid  gentleman  who,  the  night  be- 
fore, had  resented  the  Baron's  Inverness,  and  his  eyes  rested 
scornfully  on  the  Father. 

"  He  will  do  so  at  once,"  said  a  cold  voice  behind  him. 
"  Would  you  have  the  kindness  to  lean  less  heavily,  Myn- 
heer ?  "  A  gray  gentleman, — gray  of  hair,  not  only,  but  of 
face  and  eyes — stood  in  a  door  which  had  suddenly  ojDened 
in  the  wall.  Count  Rexelaer  knew  immediately  who  the 
strange  gentleman  was.  "  I — I,"  he  stammered,  altogether 
disconcerted,  "  I  was  not  aware — I  am  Count  Rexelaer." 

"  I  could  not  help  hearing  you,  Mynheer,  from  the  ad- 
joining room.  I  am  the  owner  of  this  lumber.  It  seems 
simpler  to  tell  you  at  once  that  I  shall  never  sell  any  of  it 
to  you.''^ 

All  the  words  were  calmly  polite,  excepting  that  final, 
over-emphasized  "you."  "But  why?"  pleaded  the  other, 
.somewhat  .  recovering  his  sangfroid.  "  The  things  are 
wanted  at  Deynum.  They  have  left  horrible,  noticeable 
gaps  " — a  flash  of  satisfaction  died  across  the  Baron's  eyes — 
"  and  as  head  of  the  family — " 

"  Stop,"  interrupted  Baron  Rexelaer  in  a  voice  of  thun- 
der. "  G-od  knows  I  do  not  wish  to  be  discourteous,  but 
never  shall  I  allow  you  to  use  those  words  to  my  face ! " 

"  The  higher  title — "  burst  in  Count  Hilarius  fiercely, 
while  Father  Bulbius  shrank  aside. 

"  Pooh  ! "  said  the  Baron  more  calmly.  "  Money,  even 
such  money  as  yours,  ]\[ynheer,  can  buy  almost  all  things 
nowadays.  But  it  cannot  buy — and  you  know  it  cannot — 
one  drop  of  the  blood  of  these."     He  laid  his  hand  quite 


THE   HEAD  OF   THE   HOUSE.  263 

gently  on  the  shoulder  of  the  knight  beside  him.  To  him, 
at  that  moment,  tlie  empty  armour  was  a  living  presence. 
"  There,  there,"  he  continued  softly.  "  I  have  no  wish  to 
insult  you.  I  cannot  give  you  these  things,  because  you 
would  make  them  live  a  daily  lie.  Surely  you  can  under- 
stand that.  If  you  like,  you  may  have  the  silver ;  5'onr 
father,  wrongly  enough,  was  permitted  to  assume  our  arms, 
and  you  may  buy  the  forks  and  spoons." 

"  And  the  archives  ?  "  cried  the  Count. 

Mynheer  van  Rexelaer  looked  at  him  and  smiled. 

"  I  will  take  nothing ! "  screamed  Hilarius.  "  Mind  you, 
you" — he  turned  to  Bulbius— "and  you!  I  came  here  in 
all  charity  to  see  what  could  be  done.  It  is  unwise  to  anger 
me.  Rexelaer  or  not,  I  still  am  Lord  of  Deynum."  He 
ran  out  into  the  passage.  This  time  he  found  the  front- 
door. 

"  Of  course  he  is  not  of  the  family,"  said  Bulbius,  wiping 
his  face.     "  How  could  I  ever  think  he  was  ?  " 
"  I  am  sorry,"  said  the  Baron. 

Count  Hilarius  ran  home  in  a  rage,  and,  as  misfortunes 
never  come  singly,  he  was  stopped  in  his  own  park  by  a  man 
who  had  evidently  been  waiting  for  him  there. 

"A  word  with  you,"  said  the  man. 

The  Count  drew  back.     He  was  no  craven. 

"  Let  me  pass,"  he  said  haughtily. 

"  One  moment.     This  girl.     The  child  lives." 

"  What  girl  ?  "  cried  the  Count  impatiently. 

"  Villain,  have  you  such  wealth  of  choice  ?  Dora 
Droste." 

"  I  know  nothing  of  what  you  mean,"  replied  the  Count, 
endeavouring  to  push  past.  "  Who  arc  you  ?  You  have  no 
business  in  this  park." 

"  You  know  who  I  am.  I  have  told  you  before.  Not 
that  it  matters.     I  have  nothing  in  common  with  the  girl 


9(;4  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

hut  lior  misfortune."  The  fellow,  a  miserable-looking  crea- 
ture, held  one  lean  arm  across  the  path. 

"  If  you  Avant  to  extort  money,  you  won't  get  it,"  said 
the  Count,  pressing  forward, 

"  You  will  do  nothing  for  the  girl '? " 

"  No."     Count  Rexelaer  lifted  his  cane. 

The  fellow  struck  it  aside  and,  in  doing  so,  knocked  over 
his  puny  antagonist,  saw  liim  tojjple  back  into  the  slush,  and 
ran  off  and  out  of  sight. 


CHAPTER  XXXYIL 

"  ALL   THE    COMFORTS   OF   A    HOME." 

That  night  tlie  Barou  went  back  to  Cleves. 

An  hour  or  two  before  his  arrival  Wendela  sat  strumming 
wearily  on  the  boarding-house  piano.  It  was  a  very  bad 
l^iano,  but  this,  to  Wendela,  was  no  additional  affliction, 

"  One,  two,  three,"  counted  the  Baroness.  "  Wendela, 
you  are  not  keeping  time." 

"  Oh,  what  does  it  matter,  Mamma  ?  The  tune  comes 
right  all  the  same." 

"  Not  to  those  who  distinguish  properly.  I  thought  it 
was  my  daughter's  ambition  to  do  everything  well  ?  " 

"So  it  is.  Mamma.  Oh  dear;  one,  two,  three!"  And 
Wendela  paddled  on. 

Presently  a  nervous  little  Swiss  body  thrust  her  head 
through  the  door,  then  drew  back  with  a  couple  of  openings 
and  shuttings,  and  finally  entered  and  sat  down.  Many 
people  cannot  enter  a  public  sitting-room  in  any  other  way. 
"Shall  we  be  disturbing  you,  Mademoiselle?"  asked  the 
Baroness.  "  Not  in  the  least,"  replied  the  little  lady,  in 
much  trepidation,  certainly  saying  the  reverse  of  what  she 
meant.  Friiulein  Drix  was  "  exceedingly  musical,"  and  as 
AYendela's  ten  fingers  went  staggering  over  immovable  stum- 
bling-blocks, the  poor  creature  vibrated  behind  the  Review 
she  was  endeavouring  to  read. 

Tlie  clock  struck,  and  the  musician  dropped  the  piano- 
lid  with  a  bang,  which  covered  lier  mother's  sigh  of  relief. 
The  piece  Wendela  had  been  playing  was  Haydn's  "  Sur- 


O(]0  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

prise."  Verv  surprised  would  lie  luivc  been  to  hear  it  was 
his. 

"  Do  you  consider  it  advisable,  Madame,"  said  Frilulein 
Drix,  in  a  flutter  of  sudden  resolve,  "  that  «// children  should 
be  taught  the  piano?"  Wendela,  who  was  gathering  her 
books  together,  paused  to  listen.  The  Friiulein  gasped  at 
her  own  temerity,  as  she  met  the  stare  of  the  Baroness's  pale 
eyes.  Pale  eyes  can  look  haughtier  than  dark  ones,  and  it 
was  the  one  lady's  look  which  answered  the  other.  Aloud 
]\Ievrouw  van  Eexelaer  merely  said  :  "  I  like  my  daughter  to 
learn  it,"  in  leaving  the  room.  The  doctor  remarked  next 
morning  that  Friiulein  Drix  was  not  so  well. 

The  Baroness  was  white  to  the  lips  as  she  took  her  usual 
seat  by  the  window.  She  was  a  woman  of  immeasurable 
pride ;  she  had  always  been  accustomed  to  a  tranquil  su- 
premacy of  gentle  patronage,  unassuming,  doubtless,  where 
only  condescension  was  required.  Seclusion — intermediary 
servility, — it  is  the  one  great  blessing  which  rank  and  wealth 
bestow.  The  Baroness  knew  little  of  the  world  outside  her, 
till  she  differed  with  "  Auguste  "  about  the  cleanness  of  the 
dinner-plates.  Xor  did  she  know  too  much  of  the  world 
within  her — what  stronghold  still  lay  there  unconquered — 
till  intercourse  with  the  ladies  of  Frau  Schultze's  second- 
rate  Pension  came  unpleasantly  to  her  assistance.  She 
loathed  the  little,  squalid,  quarrelsome  life. 

"  But  Mamma,"  began  Wendela  abruptly.  "  Perhaps 
she  is  right.  I  hate  playing.  And  you  said  yourself  I  had 
an  excellent  voice." 

"  Your  ear  must  be  trained  first,  Wendela  ;  it  is  far  too 
imperfect.  Allow  your  mother  to  judge.  And  do  you  re- 
member :  Seedtime  is  my  time  :  Harvest-time  is  God's." 

Wendela  threw  her  arms  round  her  mother's  neck  with 
a  warmth  of  embrace  which  would  have  astonished  Fj-iiu- 
lein  Drix  :  "  I  wonder  whether  it  ever  really  happened," 
she  said,  "  Guido  van  Eexelaer  casting  his  seed  on  the  sub- 
merged fields  in  the  Spanish  troubles,  and  the  harvest  com- 


"ALL   THE   COMFORTS   OF   A   HOME."  2G7 

iug  up  just  the  same.  Tell  me  about  it  again,  Mother. 
When  you  tell  me,  it  sounds  true." 

"  Of  course  it  is  true.  How  often  have  I  not  told  you 
before  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  know.  But  it  all  seems  too  beautiful  to  be 
real.  Beautiful  things  never  really  happen,  I  think.  It's 
only  the  ugly,  and  nasty  and  wicked  that  come  true."  Tlie 
girl  spoke  with  passionate  conviction,  shaking  back  the 
brown  locks  from  her  honest  brow.  Then,  suddenly,  she 
embraced  her  mother  again  with  vehement  hugs  and  kisses. 
"  You  tell  me,  mother,"  she  repeated,  "  about  good  things, 
and  God,  and  the  Saints.  When  you  tell  me  it  sounds  true, 
and  I  think  I  understand." 

"  Hush,  hush,"  answered  the  Baroness,  gently  disengag- 
ing herself.  "  My  little  daughter  must  not  wish  to  under- 
stand too  much.  Go  and  wash  your  hands,  dear  child ;  it 
is  nearly  time  for  supper." 

Wendela  ran  off  to  her  own  room,  a  pale-cheeked,  ear- 
nest-eyed child,  impetuous  of  thought  and  movement,  yet 
dreamy  withal.  In  the  hideousness  of  the  present,  the 
dream-life  had  deepened  around  her  as  a  sheltering 
cloud.  Nurturing  her  beauty-sick  soul  upon  the  splen- 
dours of  fairy  tales,  she  had  escaped  into  regions  of 
blissful  unreality,  where  she  delighted  to  wander,  in  end- 
less imaginings,  with  a  fairy  hero  of  her  own  creat- 
ing, to  whom  she  did  homage  as  her  lord.  Of  course 
he  was  handsome,  though  she  had  never  distinguished 
his  features,  virtuous  as  one  of  her  mother's  saints,  and  as 
a  lion  strong. 

She  would  not  have  been  a  daughter  of  her  race  had  she 
not  identified  this  fairy-prince  with  one  of  her  own  great  an- 
cestors; he  was  Pilgrim  van  Rexelaer,  the  "  Knight  Pilgrim," 
whose  marble  effigy  sleeps  in  the  Chapel  (its  visor  closed  in 
its  saintly  humility),  the  Crusader  to  whom  the  modern 
version  of  the  family  legend  ascribes  the  deliverance  of  the 
maiden   W^endela.      Not   for   one    moment   did    the   irirrs 


20S  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

strong  brain  confuse  the  actual  and  the  unreal.  All 
things  existent,  as  she  had  said  to  her  mother,  were 
ugly  and  evil ;  she  deliberately  turned  her  back  upon 
them  and  roved  away  into  the  mystic  forest,  where  a 
Saracen  Chieftain  pounced  forth  from  behind  the  pine- 
trees  and  Knight-Pilgrim  came  riding  up  on  a  milk-white 
steed. 

"  For  shame,  Wanda ! "  said  her  mother,  entering. 
"  The  supper-bell  has  rung  ! " 

Wendela  tumbled  off  the  bed :  "  Oh,  ]\Iamma,"  she  said, 
"  I  wish  you  need  never  have  disturbed  me.  I  was  so  haji^jy, 
over  yonder,  in  the  wood.     In  the  dear  wood." 

The  Baroness  knew  nothing  of  her  daughter's  dream- 
ings,  excejot  that  she  was  too  often  dreamy,  but  it  did 
not  require  any  such  knowledge  to  understand  the  allu- 
sion to  De3-num.  "  God  sends  us  the  present  to  live 
in,  not  the  past,"  she  said.  "  Get  ready,  child,  and  come 
down." 

They  went  into  the  supper-room  together,  and  there 
they  found  the  meal  and  its  appendages  awaiting  them  : — 
tea,  made  from  hay,  fat  liver-sausage  and  frizzling  potato- 
pa7icake,  and,  furthermore,  half  a  dozen  superfluous-looking 
personages  who  talked,  dismally,  at  intervals,  about  the 
Aveather  and  about  themselves.  "  Superfluous-looking," 
because  there  really  seemed  no  reason  why  any  of  these 
creatures  should  exist,  excepting  the  fact  that  each  of  them 
probably  possessed  a  pittance  to  spend  upon  herself  and 
thus  to  keep  herself  carefully,  grumblingly  and  uselessly 
alive.  Before  the  repast  was  concluded.  Mynheer  van 
Rexelaer  joined  the  party  and  was  greeted  with  a  little 
cackle  of  interest.  Most  of  the  ladies  felt  a  certain  tender- 
ness for  the  good  "  Heer  Baron  " ;  true,  he  was  married. — 
My  dear,  if  you  will  shut  the  door,  we  will  have  a  talk 
about  that  wife  of  his — he  was  married,  undeniably,  but  he 
was  the  only  gentleman  in  the  house.  As  a  rule,  he  gave 
them  very  little  satisfaction.     To-day,  again,  after  lengthen- 


"ALL   THE   COMPORTS  OF  A   HOME."  2G9 

ing  periods  of  silence,  they  picked  themselves  wp  one  by 
one,  and  carried  themselves  away,  for  thus  only  can  the 
manner  be  described  in  which  they  departed  from  the 
table  with  their  various  shawls,  work-bags  and  other  weak- 
nesses. 

Even  when  left  alone  with  his  wife  and  child,  the  Baron 
did  not  break  through  his  reserve.  He  confiiied  his  brief 
utterances  to  the  incidents  of  the  journey,  and  answered 
all  questions  with  reluctance.  "  But  I  want  to  know  every- 
thing about  everything,"  said  Wendela.  He  told  her  that 
her  pets  at  the  Castle  had  been  disposed  of :  "  Then  I  want 
to  hear  nothing  about  nothing  any  more,"  said  the  girl.  A 
year  ago  she  would  have  burst  into  a  passion  of  crying ;  now 
she  sat  gazing  silently,  until,  with  an  especially  affectionate 
farewell  to  the  Baroness,  she  wished  her  parents  good- 
night. There  was  a  barrier  between  her  and  her  father, 
unrealized,  though  not  altogether  unfelt,  by  him,  unac- 
knowledged by  her. 

The  Baron  took  uji  the  little  German  "  Tageblatt." 
Presently  he  said,  without  lifting  his  eyes  from  it :  "I  hope 
you  have  been  comfortable  during  my  absence?" 

"  Oh  yes,  we  are  comfortable.  How  can  you  ruin  your 
eyes,  mon  ami  " — the  Baroness  did  not  read  German — "  by 
this  wretched  light?  The  lamp  smells  again;  tlie  woman 
refuses  to  clean  it." 

The  Baron  laid  down  the  newspaper.  He  sat  shading 
his  face  with  his  hand,  and  presently  he  said,  as  one  who 
thinks  aloud  :  "  The  old  home." 

Madame  van  Eexelaer  dropped  her  cards.  "  Tell  me," 
she  said,  "  I  am  longing  to  know.     It  is  that  still." 

He  drew  back  his  hand  quickly  and  looked  full  at  her. 
"  Is  it  ?  "  he  said  eagerly.     "  To  you  ?  " 

"  I  envy  you,  dearest,  for  having  seen  it  again." 

He  started  to  his  feet.  "  \Vt)iild  you,"  he  said  in  a 
trembling  voice.  "  Could  you — "  He  remained  looking 
dumbly  at  his  wife,  unable  to  proceed. 


270  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

She  stretched  out  both  her  arms  to  him.  "  Come  here 
to  me,"  she  said.  "  It  is  the  one  tiling  I  have  been  longing 
for,  but  not  daring  to  ask." 

And  thus  it  was  that  the  old  Kexelaers  came  back  to  live 
at  Deynum. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE   BORCKS. 

The  village  meanwhile  had  got  accustomed  to  the  new 
ones. 

As,  day  after  day,  the  green  shutters  were  flung  open,  to 
the  slow  rising  of  the  winter-sun,  all  round  the  weather- 
beaten  sides  of  the  Castle,  those  villagers  whose  errands 
brought  them  up  to  the  offices  gazed  in  pleasant  approval  of 
the  fact  that  these  numerous  eyes  still  smiled  down  upon 
them  and  their  merchandise.  The  saying  had  been  that  the 
family  was  only  coming  for  Christmas.  They  were  still 
here,  and  Joost  Hakkert's  monthly  bill  alone  exceeded  a 
hundred  and  fifty  florins.  Joost  Hakkert  was  delighted. 
The  Baron  had  left  no  debts,  it  is  true,  but  he  had  always 
paid  slowly  while  buying  little  ;  Count  Rexelaer's  ready 
money  came  pouring  into  the  village,  and  the  village,  as  it 
felt,  smelt,  jingled  and  crackled  it,  hurrah'd  for  Count 
Rexelaer.  One  morning  the  tailor  met  Hakkert's  youngest 
son  in  the  Castle-courtyard  bending  beneath  his  basket-load 
of  meat.  "  And  does  your  father  still  insult  the  strangers? " 
he  asked  in  passing.  The  foolish,  beefsteak-faced  lad 
stopped  and  stared. 

One  class  there  was  which  had  full  cause  to  regret  the 
White  Baroness.  It  is  a  large  one,  and  at  Deynum  that 
lady  had  perhaps  unnecessarily  enlarged  it.  Margherita, 
on  her  part,  had  no  wish  not  to  be  charitable,  but  that  very 
common  attitude  is  of  little  practical  avail.  The  Count  en- 
trusted his  systematised  charities  to  Dievcrt,  and  every  gen- 
tleman who  has  found  out  his  steward  (some,  alas,  have  not 


L'72 


Till-:   (iREATI-:R   GLORY. 


yet  done  so)  will  understand  Avhat  that  meant.  Dicvert 
now  often  deplored  that  he  had  not  had  the  management  of 
the  old  Baron's  largesse. 

Meanwhile  the  whole  regiment  of  workmen  were  busy 
all  over  the  Castle,  and  herein  he  could  find  sufficient  cause 
for  rejoicing.  Margherita,  who  possessed  genuine  taste 
and  considerable  knowledge  of  the  lower  forms  of  art, 
had  thrown  herself,  with  fitful  energy,  into  the  work  of  ren- 
ovation and  redecoration,  and  her  husband  did  not  check 
her  capricious  expenditure,  although,  unfortunately  for  Die- 
vert,  he  checked  the  resultant  bills.  He  was  glad  to  afford 
some  relief  to  the  melancholy  which  would  settle  on  the 
Creole's  face  as  she  stood  looking  forth  on  the  ice-bound 
moat,  and  the  snow  and  the  scraggy  trees.  Much  as  she 
had  complained  at  the  Hague,  she  had  never  yet  understood 
how  wintry  winter  is.  Would  she  go  back  ?  Ah  no  ;  she 
had  a  nervous  dread,  at  this  moment,  of  the  city's  tittle-tat- 
tle about  the  "  Scene  at  the  Eailway  Station,"  which  was 
being  diligently  worked  by  the  "  Eads."  Margherita  had 
plenty  of  passion  at  her  command  for  a  fine  burst  of  emo- 
tion, but  she  could  not  stand  the  wear  of  a  lagging,  nagging 
annoyance. 

After  a  few  weeks  Mevrouw  Elizabeth  van  Rexelaer  re- 
turned to  her  relations  at  the  Castle.  She  brought  Jane 
with  her,  and  also  Cecile  Borck,  her  dead  brother's  child,  a 
shy,  simple-hearted  girl.  Grandmamma  Borck  had  her 
dear  friend,  the  Countess  de  Bercy,  staying  with  her,  and 
Cecile's  presence  hampered  their  talk.  In  spite  of  her 
orphanhood  and  modesty,  Cecile  was  not  a  nobody  in  the 
Borck  family ;  her  father  had  misallied  himself  to  one  of 
the  Koopstad  Lossells  and  had  left  her  fifty  thousand 
pounds  in  the  funds.  Grandmamma  looked  after  her  and 
them. 

She  came,  therefore,  to  see,  and  be  seen  of,  her  cousins, 
the  Borcks  of  Eollington,  and  Mevrouw  Elizabeth,  her  aunt 
(who  had  missed  the  dear  people  at  Christmas),  ostensibly 


THE  BORCKS.  273 

did  the  same.  The  new  owners  of  Deyuum  were  glad  of 
this  bridge  of  communication  with  their  powerful  neigh- 
bour, but  they  would  hardly  have  tolerated  Mevrouw  Eliza- 
beth's early  reappearance,  had  not  other  considerations  come 
to  the  fore.  Young  Simmans,  the  functionary  charged  with 
the  Countess's  "  proces-verbal,"  was  very  intimate  at  the 
house  of  Judge  Eexelaer  ;  he  was  even  credited  with  aspir- 
ing to  the  hand  of  the  Freule  Jane.  Had  Jane  been  less 
plain,  this  presumption  would  have  been  resented,  for  Sim- 
mans  was  nobody's  son  but  his  father's. 

"  When  you  are  down  there,"  said  the  Dowager  to  her 
daughter,  "  you  can  write  to  Henry  Simmaus  to  come  and 
see  you  and  find  out  the  facts  from  Margherita.  She  is  a 
fool.  I  barely  know  her,  but  you  can  tell  her  so  from  me. 
In  my  youth  the  populace  took  pleasure  in  the  noble  arro- 
gance of  their  superiors  ;  the  times  have  changed,  and  the 
best  thing  for  us  to  do  is  to  keep  as  quiet  as  we  can.  Like 
the  rich  Jews  of  the  Middle  Ages  that  used  to  wear  the 
filthier  rags.  From  the  height  of  my  eighty  years'  experi- 
ence I  say :  Society  scandals  to-day  are  society  suicides,  and 
should  be  punished  by  society  as  such."  She  struck  her 
cane  on  the  floor,  and  sat  angrily  twitching  her  poor  old 
mouth,  which  was  fallen  in  over  her  peaked  chin.  She  was 
seventy-three,  but  her  daughter  knew  better  than  to  contra- 
dict her.  She  had  been  thirty  till  she  was  fifty,  and  had 
tlien  leaped  into  precipitate  old  age. 

"  Live  as  badly  or  as  madly  as  you  will,"  she  added,  after 
a  moment,  "  but  build  your  park-walls  high." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Mevrouw  Elizabeth,  who  was  nothing 
if  not  practical.  "  And  I  shall  take  down  Jane,  Mamma, 
and  I  might  also  take  Antoinette.  Dear  Rene  is  so  at- 
tached to  Antoinette." 

"They  are  child reu,"  replied  the  Dowager.  "I  have 
never  paid  much  attontioTi  to  the  attachmeuts  of  children, 
liut,  by  all  means,  take  Jane.  It  will  be  dull  enough  for 
Simmans." 


274:  THE  GKEATEli  GLORY. 

"  Wc  shall  liave  him  proposing  from  ennui,"  laughed 
Mevrouw  Elizabeth,  with  an  attempt  at  playfulness  which 
did  not  at  all  "  suit  her  style." 

"  As  most  men  do,"  retorted  the  Dowager. 

So  Mevrouw  van  Eexelaer  departed  for  Deynum  with 
Jane  and  Cecile,  the  Countess  having  declined  the  pleasure 
of  Topsy's  company,  "  because  Eeinout  was  once  more  oc- 
cupied with  his  lessons."  "  As  if  /  could  not  have  brought 
Miss  Wilson,"  said  Eeinout's  disappointed  aunt.  Jane  had 
pulled  a  face  at  the  prospect  of  more  Deynum  in  winter. 
"  You  can  draw,  you  know,"  suggested  her  plump  sister 
Rolline.  "  Yes ;  that's  what  I'm  taken  for,"  said  plain- 
spoken  Jane. 

The  Borcks  of  Eollingen  called  the  day  after  their 
cousin's  arrival,  most  unfortunately  missing  the  Count,  wdio 
had  left  for  a  period  of  "  duty  "  at  the  palace.  They  were 
almost  cordial  to  Mevrouw  ■  Elizabeth,  aud  gracious  to 
Margherita.  "  And  was  that  dark,  olive-complexioned  boy, 
the  Countess's  son  ?  " — the  lady  from  Eollingen  put  up  her 
eye-glass.  "  He  is  very  handsome ;  do  you  not  think  so, 
John  ?  He  understands  French  ?  Oh,  never  mind ;  plenty 
of  people  will  tell  him  that."  "  I  am  glad  we  are  co-re- 
ligionists," she  said  to  Margherita  in  parting,  not  knowing, 
or  forgetting,  the  Countess's  change  of  creed.  She  prom- 
ised to  call  again. 

Margherita  "  did  not  care,"  as  long  as  she  knew  people 
to  bow  to.  Just  now  she  was  entirely  engrossed  by  the  con- 
struction of  a  glass  excrescence  to  her  sitting-room,  which 
would  hang  like  a  huge  balcony  over  the  moat.  She  took 
her  visitors  to  see  this.  "  It  does  not  match  a  bit  with 
the  rest  of  the  fortress-like  building,"  said  Elizabeth.  "  It 
does  not,"  admitted  the  lady  of  Eollingen,  frankly.  Mar- 
gherita knew  that  better  than  her  visitors,  but  she  must 
have  a  corner  for  her  plants  and  her  pets.  "  Did  Mevrouw 
Borck  like  pets?"  Mevrouw  Borck  detested  them,  and  had 
fortunately  not  observed  the  recumbent  Florizel,  who  had 


THE   BORCKS.  275 

soiled  the  train  of  her  dress  during  the  visit.  It  was  Cecile 
who  timidly  hinted,  in  her  desire  to  say  something  kind, 
that  houses  built  out  of  the  water  were  known  to  be  less 
damp  than  houses  beside  it.  The  Baroness  Borck,  tactless 
as  she  herself  was,  lifted  her  perpetual  eye-glass  and  looked 
kindly  at  this  young  bearer  of  her  name.  "  You  must 
come  and  stay  with  us  some  day,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "  We 
ought  to  know  you  better."  Cecile  blushed  crimson :  "  I 
should  be  delighted,  Mevrouw,  but  I  am  always  witli  grand- 
mamma Borck."  The  Baron  of  Eollingen  said  little  about 
the  visit  on  the  way  home.  Once  only  he  opened  his  eyes,  in 
the  midst  of  his  wife's  chatter.  "  A  tragedy  in  six  words," 
he  said.     "I  am  always  with  grandmamma  Borck." 

And  Harry  Simmans  came  down  to  the  Castle,  to  visit 
Mevrouw  Elizabeth,  and  the  Count  asked  him,  after  dinner, 
to  stay  for  a  day  or  two.  Margherita  took  no  notice.  The 
weather  being  milder,  the  transfer  of  the  tropical  birds  had 
been  sanctioned  by  their  medical  attendant.  They  travelled 
down  in  glass  cases,  heated  by  spirits  of  wine. 

"  They  are  all  that  is  left  me  of  home,"  said  the  Count- 
ess.    She  cried  as  she  let  them  loose  in  the  "  excrescence." 

The  Countess's  only  son,  meanwhile,  released  from  his 
early  solitude,  made  friends  with  all  the  animate  and  inani- 
mate world  around  him.  As  long  as  his  tutor  remained 
away,  he  multiplied  unpleasant  pets  and  fraternized  with 
village  urchins ;  Monsieur  de  Souza,  on  his  return,  rej^re- 
sented  this  terrible  state  of  affairs  in  no  measured  terms  to 
tlie  Count.  "  Rene  s'encanaille."  The  words  fell  like  a 
thunderbolt.  It  was  the  one  thing  which  his  whole  educa- 
tion had  been  destined  to  avoid.  The  poor  boy,  who  had 
been  debarred  from  the  friendship  of  his  equals,  found 
pleasure  in  the  society  of  such  children  as  could  not  dis- 
tinguish his  peculiarities.  The  Count  listened  horror- 
struck.     "  Ren6  s'encanaille." 

"lie  never  reads,"  said  the  Countess.  "Intercourse 
19 


270       '  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

with  great  minds  is  the  sole  education.  I  have  always  said 
so.  Go  into  the  library,  Rene."  And  Keinout,  who  felt 
bored,  wandered  away,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  along 
the  endless  lines  of  books. 

"  Ma  chere,  I  regretfully  disagree  with  you,"  said  the 
Count,  following  his  wife  into  her  boudoir.  "  The  boy  will 
get  no  good  from  all  the  rubbish  in  there.  I  never  read 
through  half  a  dozen  books  in  my  life,  except  when  I  was 
working  for  my  degree.  Reinout  is  to  enter  the  diplomatic 
service.  And  for  that  he  is  being  fitted  as  few  men  have 
been.  He  is  learning  by  De  Souza's  experience  what  others 
have  to  learn  by  their  own." 

"  Of  course  he  will  become  a  diplomatist,"  replied  Mar- 
gherita,  languidly  arranging  some  strij^ed  camellias.  "  But 
that  is  only  the  background.  My  son  is  to  be  more  than 
that — a  prophet,  a  teacher,  an  immortal !  " 

"  Eh  ? "  said  the  Count.  "  Oh,  you  mean :  verses. 
Don't  put  foolish  ideas  into  his  head,  Margot.  Literature 
wouldn't  keep  you  in  bonbons,  and,  besides,  it  isn't  work  for 
a  gentleman." 

"And  Hugo,  then,  who  is  a  Count?  And  Musset? 
and  Chateaubriand  ?     And  Lamartine  ?  " 

"  Chateaubriand?"  repeated  the  Count.  "  He  is  a  beef- 
steak— or  he  invented  one,  or  something.  AVhat  has  he  to 
do  with  Rene  ?  " 

"Go  back  to  your — diplomatic  avocations,"  replied  the 
Countess  quietly.  "  And  leave  me  to  build  up  the  future 
glory  of  my  child." 

"  But  why  not  ?  "  said  Van  Rexelaer  carelessly,  looking 
at  his  watch.  "  As  long  as  you  make  a  gentleman  of  him 
first." 

The  Countess  Margherita  dashed  her  flowers  violently  to 
the  ground.  "  Gentleman  !  Gentleman  ! "  she  repeated,  "  I 
am  sick  of  the  refrain,  and  you,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  I  sup- 
pose you  are  a  type  of  a  gentleman  ?  " 

"  But— Margherita— " 


THE   BORCKS.  277 

She  came  close  to  him.  Involuntarily  he  shrank  back. 
"  A  gentleman,"  she  said,  "  is  a  man  who  breaks  all  the  com- 
mandments— genteelly,  and  who  keeps  his — linen  scrupu- 
lously clean."     And  she  quitted  the  room. 

Hilarius  was  left  standing  opposite  his  own  rather  stupid 
face  in  the  glass.  "  Follies !  "  he  said,  and  went  to  keep  his 
appointment  with — never  mind. 

Surely  no  woman  was  ever  wholly  bad.  Surely  not  even 
the  best  of  men  was  ever  entirely  worthy  of  a  good  woman. 

Eeinout  loitered  to  and  fro  along  the  great,  dim  library. 
The  weather  was  dreary  outside,  in  the  drip  of  a  wide-spread 
thaw.  There  had  been  no  books  at  the  Hague,  except  his 
mother's  boxes  of  novels.  Novels  were  not  books.  These 
latter  were  for  schoolmasters,  professors  and  such-like.  He 
now  pulled  out  one  or  two  from  curiosity,  philosophical 
works  of  eighteenth-century  Frenchmen. 

"  Merci,  Maman,"  he  said,  with  a  yawn,  as  he  replaced 
them.  He  knew,  disastrously,  that  his  father  thought  his 
poetastic  mother  a  fool. 

He  knew  also  tliat  they  differed  about  himself.  Even 
now,  as  he  left  their  presence,  he  had  heard  the  Count  be- 
gin :  "  Ma  chere,  I  regretfully  disagree  with  you — "  A 
moment  before  he  had  had  to  endure  the  most  vehement 
reproaches  on  account  of  his  intercourse  with  the  village- 
lads.  Count  Hilarius  had  been  irritably  violent,  seeking 
offence  where  Reinout  felt  there  was  none.'  The  boy  con- 
sidered himself  aggrieved  by  the  thought  that  his  father  was 
constantly  stopping  him  somewhere. 

Still  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  he  wandered  into  a 
little  nondescript  turret-cliamber,  where  he  found  Cecile 
engaged  at  an  old  piano.  His  was  not  a  deeply  musical  na- 
ture, but  at  this  moment  the  melodious  majesty  of  Beethoven 
swept  solemnly  upon  his  sullen  mood. 

He  stood  listening,  and  when  she  paused  and  looked  at 
him — with  those  kind  gray  eyes  of  hers : 


278  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

"  What  do  you  do,  Freule,"  he  asked  suddenh',  "  when 
you  dou't  understand?" 

"  How  so,  Rene  ?  "     This,  evidently,  was  a  case  in  point. 

"  About  what  people  want  you  to  do,  I  mean.  And  what 
you  ought  to." 

"  I  ask  God,"  said  Cecile  softly. 

"  Dear  me !  I  thought  you  were  too  old  to  say  your 
prayers !  " 

The  young  Freule's  eyes  grew  troubled,  and  she  looked 
as  if  she  were  anxiously  searching  for  fit  expression.  But 
she  only  blushed,  and  murmured  "  Poor  Eene." 

Eeinout  wandered  off  into  the  hall.  Why  did  all  good 
people  pity  him  ?  Ever  since  he  could  remember.  Monsieur 
de  Souza  had  called  him  "Fortune's  Favourite." 

He  went  uji  to  his  afternoon  lessons.  Tutor  and  pupil 
were  reading  together  the  memoirs  of  a  Gentilhomme  de  la 
Chambre  of  Louis  le  Bien-aime.  Eeinout  thought  it  dull 
work.  He  was  blase  at  fourteen.  But  that  was  what  the 
Count  had  always  wanted :  "  There  is  no  strength  in  the 
world,"  said  Count  Eexelaer,  "  equivalent  to  beginning  life 
blase." 

But  it  had  never  struck  him  that  Eeinout,  weary  of  his 
great  world's  littleness,  might  look  out  for  another.  Count 
Eexelaer  did  not  know  there  was  another  world. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

HONEST   HEAETS. 

The  Chalk-house  Farm  was  sinking  to  sleep  under  the 
dying  day.  Across  its  low  brown  roof  the  massive  shadows 
broadened,  seeming  to  pull  down  the  heavy  thatch,  like  a 
nightcap,  over  little  windows,  that  blinked  drowsily,  black 
against  the  fading  light.  The  few  gaunt  beeches  which 
overtop  the  prostrate  building  stretched  out  their  straggling 
arms  to  Heaven,  in  appeal  for  a  covering  too  long  withheld. 
Heaven  answered  by  dropping  its  clouds  among  them  and 
gradually  wiping  them  out  of  sight.  In  the  red-brick  court- 
yard, between  the  bake-house  and  the  living-house,  a  belated 
chicken  was  nervously  over-doing  its  supper,  if  meals  can  be 
distinguished  in  a  chicken's  twelve  hours'  uninterrupted 
feed.  A  brown  mongrel  lay  by  the  door  and,  occasionally 
opening  one  eye,  stared  vaguely  at  the  four  poles  of  the 
empty  hay-stack.  Over  the  whole  landscape  hung  a  gloomy 
calm.  The  gloom,  not  the  calm,  hung  over  Lise,  who  stood 
waiting  by  the  long  white  fence  which  separates  the  farm- 
yard from  the  high-road. 

Her  motlier  came  out  into  the  twilight  with  a  bright 
blue  milk-pail.  "  He'll  know  soon  enough,  child,"  she  said. 
"  You  needn't  be  in  a  hurry  to  tell  him." 

"  Don't,  mother,"  said  the  girl.  Young  people  have  no 
taste  for  irony.     Lovers  least  of  all. 

"  But  of  course  your  father  knows  best,"  continued 
Vrouw  Driest,  and  disappeared  through  the  low  door, 
muttering.     Hardly  an  hour  went  by  but  Lise  heard  those 


280  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

words  from  her  mother's  lips.  They  were  the  farm-wife's 
all-sufficient  solace  among  the  misfortunes  and  failures  of 
life.     She  forgot  them  when  anything  turned  out  well. 

Tliere  had  heen  a  time  when  Lise  had  occasionally  an- 
swered :  "  But,  mother,  it  was  you  that  said — "  "  llush, 
child,  how  can  you  bo  so  headstrong !  Of  course  your 
father  knows,  though  /  should  not  have  sold  that  cow." 

"  She  is  over-anxious  to  tell  him,"  repeated  Vrouw 
Driest  as  she  returned  to  the  farm-kitchen.  Peasants  al- 
ways communicate  a  thouglit  to  a  number  of  people  in  suc- 
cession. "  I  tell  her  he  will  hear  it  soon  enough,"  she 
added,  bending  over  the  pot  which  simmered  on  the  fire. 
The  husband,  a  ponderous,  slow-smoking  man,  whose  very 
arm,  Avhere  it  lay  inert  on  the  table,  was  heavy  with  depres- 
sion, never  even  moved  in  reply. 

"  I  always  thought  it  would  come  to  this,"  said  the  wife, 
bustling  about  the  kitchen.  How  often  had  she  not  de- 
clared that  no  power  on  earth  would  drag  her  to  the  Castle  ? 
But  Driest,  who  had  earned  a  quiet  life  by  playing  scape- 
goat, could  not  refuse  the  role  to-day,  when  on  the  point  of 
being  hunted  into  the  wilderness. 

"  There's  the  chaise,"  said  the  wife  presently,  and  went 
to  the  door.  "  He's  sold  the  filly,"  she  added,  and  turned 
away  again,  "  Let  them  do  their  kissing  and  nonsense 
alone,"  she  thought,  and  cast  a  sad  smile  across  at  her  hus- 
band's bent  head. 

"  Thys,"  said  the  girl,  at  the  gate,  in  the  twilight.  "  It 
has  come.  Dievert  told  father  this  morning.  The  lease  is 
not  going  to  be  renewed." 

The  young  man  checked  his  horse  with  a  jerk,  and, 
falling  back,  from  the  shock,  in  the  light  wooden  chaise,  he 
swore  aloud  at  Count  Rexehier. 

The  girl  said  no  more,  walking  beside  the  horse,  as  her 
lover  slowly  guided  him  into  the  stable.  He  also  spoke 
very  little,  unharnessing,  while  she  helped  him,  and  begin- 
ning to  whistle  meditatively  as  he  shook  out  the  straw. 


HONEST   HEARTS.  281 

Presently  she  caught  up  a  pitcher  and,  perliaps  as  an  apol- 
ogy for  her  ill-tidings,  went  to  fill  it  at  the  well.  Without 
a  word  of  thanks  to  interrupt  his  whistling,  he  took  it  from 
her,  but  as  they  crossed  the  courtyard  together  he  said : 
"  This  will  put  off  our  marriage,  Lise,  till  the  Lord  knows 
when."  "  Mother  doesn't  understand  about  my  wanting  to 
tell  you,"  answered  Lise,  "  but  it  didn't  seem  like  knowing 
till  both  of  us  knew."  He  did  not  ask  her  to  explain  her 
meaning,  though  perhaps  he  hardly  understood  it.  "  Poor 
mother,"  he  said,  and  they  passed  into  the  kitchen,  where 
the  meal  lay  spread  beneath  the  dismal  lamp. 

"  Well,  Thys?"  said  the  farmer,  moving  at  last  from  his 
stolid  despair.  "  Pve  done  well,"  rej^lied  Thys,  and,  even  at 
this  moment,  a  note  of  triumph  penetrated  his  voice.  He 
had  been  away  for  three  days,  to  the  great  Easter  horse- 
fair  at  Utrecht.  "  There  were  French  traders.  These 
Frenchmen  pay  well."  His  uncle — he  called  him  "  father  " 
— nodded  solemn  approval,  and  said  "  Good."  That  is  a 
great  deal  for  a  farmer. 

Then  they  sat  down  to  supper  in  silence,  till  the  mother 
began  :  "  The  family  are  back,  Thys.  They  arrived  on  the 
day  you  left." 

"Did  they?"  said  Thys.  His  heart  was  heavy,  but  he 
cut  himself  an  enormous  chunk  of  bread. 

"  Yes,  and  I  think  the  old  Heer  might  have  come  to  see 
us.     But  no  doubt  your  father  knows." 

The  old  man  looked  straight  across  into  his  foster-son's 
eyes.  "  Lise  has  told  you,"  he  said.  Thys  nodded,  with  his 
mouth  full. 

"  It's  worse  for  you,  boy.     Mother  and  I  are  old." 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  father,"  broke  in  his  spouse.  "  I 
hope  to  make  butter  yet  for  twenty  years,  please  God." 

"  And  where'll  you  make  it  ?  "  said  the  farmer. 

After  that  a  thoughtful  silence  fell  upon  the  little  com- 
pany, not  even  broken  when  the  Baron  van  Rexelaer  sud- 
denly stood  in  their  midst.     They  shuffled  awkwardly  to 


282  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

their  feet,  in  a  movement  of  general  embarrassment,  around 
the  half-finished  meal. 

"  Can  you  let  me  have  a  cup  of  coffee,  Yrouw  Driest  ?  " 
said  the  Baron,  with  extended  hand. 

The  woman  was  a  sonr-visaged  woman,  but,  at  this  mark 
of  condescension,  her  expression  grew  positively  fierce  with 
emotion.  She  had  lived  all  her  life  at  Deynum;  the  Baron, 
to  her,  was  still  sovereignty  personified.  She  hurried  into 
her  parlour  to  get  one  of  her  grandmother's  eleven  Japanese 
cups.  Alas  that  there  should  be  eleven  !  Had  not  Vrouw 
Driest's  sister-in-law,  on  the  occasion  of  Lise's  birth,  in 
dusting — There  is  an  old  saying,  by  one  who  knew,  about 
"  renovare  dolorem."     The  sister-in-law  is  still  ashamed. 

There  was  a  moment's  interruption  of  washing  and 
wiping.  "  No  one  that  we  know  of  has  ever  used  this  cuj) 
before,  Mynheer,"  said  tlie  farmer's  wife  with  pardonable 
pride,  as  she  placed  the  bit  of  blue  china  before  the  Baron. 
"  You  and  I,  Driest,"  began  that  gentleman,  abruptly,  "  are 
companions  in  misfortune.  Bat  I  want  to  think  that  yours 
is  preventable.     Can  nothing  be  done?" 

"  Ah,  that's  what  I  say,"  remarked  the  wife. 

"  You  should  have  said  it  sooner  then,"  retorted  the 
farmer,  turning  angrily  upon  her.  "  If  the  Count  says 
'  Go,'  landheer,  go  we  must." 

"  But  need  he  say  it  ?  Don't  think  I  don't  love  you  for 
what  you've  done."  He  held  out  his  hand,  which  the  slow 
farmer  took  deferentially.  "  There,  now  that's  settled,  I 
want  you  to  do  me  another  favour,  the  next  best.  I 
want  you  to  go  up  to  the  Castle  and  see  the  Count  your- 
self." 

"  N"ever.  We  need  no  Counts  here,"  burst  in  the  wife. 
Then  she  pursed  up  her  lips  and  fixed  her  eyes  on  the 
Baron's  cup.  Thys  had  moved  his  long  legs  under  the 
table.     Lise  signed  to  him  to  keep  still. 

"  It's  no  use,"  continued  the  Baron.  "  We  poor  people 
must  bend  or  break.     I'm  broken.     You'd  better  bend." 


HONEST   HEARTS.  283 

"  "We  did  it  for  the  best,"  said  Driest,  a  little  sore. 

It  was  this  very  soreness  the  Barou  dreaded.  He  was 
not  a  dijilomatist,  but  he  was  resolved  to  save  these  poor 
people. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said.  "  If  the  Count  renews, 
you'll  go  up  and  thank  him.  Eh?"  He  turned  to  the 
wife. 

"  The  farmer  knows  best,  landlieer,"  replied  that  lady 
promptly.     Site  was  a  diplomatist. 

"  He's  a  thief,"  said  the  farmer  slowly.  "  He's  no  Rexe- 
laer.     D him." 

"  Father  !  "  cried  Lise. 

"  Ay,  '  father ' !  What's  the  likes  of  him  to  come  among 
the  likes  of  us?  As  soon  have  some  false  stock  of  my 
grand-uncle's  breeding — he  was  a  wild  chap  and  went  to 
Town  for  a  hair-dresser — setting  up  at  the  Chalk-house 
Farm  as  a  Driest ! " 

Music  as  all  this  might  be  to  the  Baron's  ears,  he  saw 
the  danger  of  it.  "  And  who  knows  what  will  happen  at 
the  Chalk-house  Farm,"  he  said,  coming  round  quickly  to 
the  practical  side,  "  when  you  are  no  longer  master  here?" 
Vrouw  Driest  heaved  a  notable  sigh. 

"  I  don't  care  to  be,"  replied  the  farmer,  doggedly,  "  not 
under  the  new  lord.  Deynum  isn't  Deynum  with  a  Gueux 
at  tlie  Castle.  The  Rexelaers  have  gone,  and  they  were 
here  longer  than  we  by  a  matter  of  many  hundred  years. 
We  can  go  where  Mynheer  the  Baron's  gone.  It  isn't  so 
far  as  America,  I  suppose.     Eh,  Vrouw  ?  " 

"  We've  come  back  to  remain,"  said  the  Baron  huskily, 
moved  to  the  very  bottom  of  his  heart.  "  I  can't  live  any- 
where else,  Driest,  nor  can  the  Baroness.  Now,  how  about 
you  ?  Don't  deceive  yourself,  my  good,  faithful  friend. 
Old  clodhojipers  can't  breathe  on  any  clod  but  their  own." 
He  waved  his  hand  to  them  all,  and  hurried  away.  Tlie 
farmer  brought  down  his  enormous  fist  on  the  table  with 
a  crash  that  set  all  the  dishes  dancing.     Thys  smiled  sav- 


28 J:  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

agely.  Yronw  Driest  canglit  up  her  graiuhnotlicr's  cnp, 
and  laid  it  in  her  lap. 

Tlie  Baron,  slowly  returning  homewards,  halted  for  a 
moment  upon  the  little  village-green.  At  this  hour  the 
])lace  was  quite  deserted,  but  in  the  darkness  you  could 
trace  the  shapes  of  the  Church  and  School,  and  other  few 
buildings  scattered  around.  That  light  yonder  was  Job 
Ilenniks' !  There  the  cronies  of  the  village  were  doubtless 
assembled,  discussing  the  old  lord  and  the  new. 

"  Mynheer  van  Eexelaer,  might  I  speak  to  you  for  a 
moment?"  said  a  polite  voice,  which  he  did  not  recognise, 
at  his  side.  He  turned.  "  They  told  me  at  the  priest's 
you  would  be  coming  this  way.  I  am  John  Borck.  It  is, 
unfortunately,  many  years  since  we  met." 

"  It  is,"  said  the  Baron,  stiffiy,  to  his  wife's  old  antago- 
nist. They  walked  along  the  road,  side  by  side,  the  Baron 
painfully  exjiectant. 

"  The  matter  is  purely  one  of  business,"  began  the 
Lord  of  Rollingen,  stammering  out  the  central  thought  of 
his  previously  prepared  speeches,  "  and  it  is  always  best,  I 
think,  to  transact  business  personally.  I — I — if  I  under- 
stand rightly,  there  are  some  objects  from  the  Castle  you 
wish  to  do  away  with.     If  I  am  mistaken,  I  beg  pardon." 

"  I  have  decided  nothing  as  yet,"  said  Baron  Reselaer, 
not  in  a  pleasant  tone  of  voice. 

"  Still,  supposing  you  should  resolve  to — I  understood 
from  Cecile  Borck,  who  is  staying — look  here,  Eexelaer,  we 
used  to  know  each  other  well  enough  once.  I  don't  want 
to  do  you  a  favour.  Not  I ;  I  want  you  to  do  me  one. 
You  knoAV  I'm  a  great  man  for  antiquities  and  family- 
histories  " — Baron  Eexelaer  knew  nothing  of  the  kind — 
"  now  what's  the  use  of  selling  portraits,  for  instance,  to 
brokers?  The  Eexelaers  and  the  Borcks  have  been  closely 
connected  in  the  centuries  when  nobody  differed  about  re- 
ligion, and  a  lot  of  your  belongings  must  be  of  esi^ecial 
value  to  us.     Now,  why  shouldn't  you  sell  them  to  me,  as  I 


HONEST  HEARTS.  285 

want  them?  If  you  like,  we  could  easily  make  out  an 
agreement,  that,  in  the  next  twenty  years,  you  or  your 
d?iughter  could  take  them  back — at  the  same  price.  I  think 
that  would  be  fair.  Or  the  same  price  and  four  per  cent, 
interest.  Yes,  that  would  be  fairer."  This  last  inspiration 
came  to  John  Borck  in  the  moment  of  speaking  and  huge- 
ly delighted  him. 

"  It  can't  be,  Borck,"  said  the  Baron,  in  an  unsteady 
voice,  now.     "  For  one  thing,  my  wife  wouldn't  like  it." 

"  Nor  would  mine,"  rose  to  honest  John  Borck's  lips, 
but  he  checked  the  words.  "  It  is  merely  a  business  trans- 
action," he  repeated. 

"  JSTevertheless,  I  am  most  deeply  grateful  for  your 
generous  offer" — Baron  Borck  would  have  interrupted — 
"  No,  no,  do  not  think  I  cannot  comprehend.  Your  kind- 
ness even  emboldens  me,  while  refusing  one  service,  to  ask 
for  another.     Will  you  let  me  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  queried  cautious  John  Borck. 

"  There  is  a  man  here,  one  of  my  old  farmers,  who  can- 
not get  on  under  the  new  regime.  He  is  a  good  man ;  the 
question  is  a — a  personal  one,  regarding  m^yself.  It  is 
Driest,  of  the  Chalk-house,  which  you  have  long  wanted  to 
buy.  If  you  had  a  farm  for  him,  on  the  other  side  of 
Eollingen,  I — I  should  look  upon  it  as  a  great  kindness  to 
myself." 

"  I  shall  bear  it  in  mind,"  said  Borck.  They  had  reached 
the  Parsonage.  "  Permit  me  one  question  in  parting,"  con- 
tinued the  Lord  of  Eollingen.  "  If  you  sell  these  things  to 
strangers,  how  will  you  prevent  Count  Rexelaer's  ultimately 
acquiring  them  ?" 

And  now  it  will  seem  incredible  to  those  who  live  in 
Koopstad  and  are  wide-awake  that  this  sleepy,  single- 
thoughted  country-gentleman  had  never  even  caught  a 
glimpse  of  his  danger. 

"  Remember  what  happened  about  the  Castle.  That 
was  a  dirty  trick,  I  thought.    I  know  a  good  deal  about  the 


2SQ  THE   GREATER   GLORY. 

Eexehiers,  more  than  you  tliiuk.  I  was  in  no  hurry  to  call 
on  the  people.  But  my  cousin,  you  remember,  married  the 
brother."  * 

"  There  is  a  good  deal  to  know,"  said  the  Baron. 

"Perhaps  I  know  it.  I  know  about  the  'k'  in  their 
name,  for  instance.  Ah,  you  didn't  expect  that,  did  you  ? 
I  told  you  I  was  a  bit  of  an  antiquary.  Now,  to  a  great 
many  people,  that '  k '  wouldn't  matter  a  brass  cent ;  it  does 
to  you  and  me,  because  we  are  old  fogies.  The  old  fogies 
ought  to  stick  together  in  this  brand-new  day.  You  can 
take  time  to  consider  my  projjosal.  I  am  in  no  hurry. 
Good  night." 

"  Good  night  and  God  bless  you,  John  Borck,"  said  the 
Baron  van  Eexelaer.  Here  was  a  kind  Av^ord  from  one  of 
his  own  class  at  last. 

The  Lord  of  Rollingen  was  one  of  the  richest  and  most 
powerful  nobles  in  the  country.  He  was  a  strange  quiet 
man,  of  strong  idiosyncrasy,  who  allowed  his  wife  to  do 
whatever  she  chose,  except  on  the  rare  occasions  when  he  did 
not  w^ant  her  to  do  it.  When  his  young  cousin  Cecile,  who 
scarcely  knew  her  mighty  kinsman,  had  penetrated  into  his 
room  that  morning  with  much  fear  and  trembling,  he  had 
first  been  taken  by  surprise,  then  interested,  then  greatly 
pleased.  He  was  an  aristocrat  down  to  the  bottom,  and 
therefore  a  just  man  as  well  as  a  proud.  It  is  only  your 
nine-tenths  aristocrat  who  is  prejudiced  beyond  the  limits 
of  justice. 

"  You  are  right,  Cecile,"  had  said  Baron  John  Borck. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

OF   SOME    THAT    KETURKED   TO    DEYNUM    AND    SOME    THAT 
DEPAETED   THEXCE. 

As  spring  went  slowly  deepening  into  summer — the  pro- 
cess takes  a  long  time  in  our  Northern  region ! — the  Countess 
Margherita's  heart  began  to  soften  a  little  towards  Deynum. 
It  was  by  no  means  a  cold  heart ;  it  was  a  warm  heart  be- 
numbed. From  her  new  conservatory — the  excrescence — 
she  would  sadly  watch  the  sun  in  liis  daily  struggles  to 
climb  higher  behind  the  gaunt  rampart  of  distant  trees,  and 
when  suddenly,  one  pale  morning,  the  grim  wall  stood  col- 
oured over  with  a  faint  shimmer  of  silver-green  promise,  she 
screamed  aloud  to  Laissa,  and  went  dancing  away  among 
her  plants,  like  a  butterfly,  Avith  all  the  parrots  yelling  and 
all  the  dogs  wildly  capering  around  her.  Count  Hilarius, 
who  seldom  took  any  notice  of  her  "  extravagances,"  looked 
in  at  the  door.  "  AYhat  now?  "  he  inquired,  as  she  whirled 
past  him,  holding  the  furiously  barking  Florizel  triumph- 
antly aloft.  "  It  is  spring !  "  she  cried  back  at  him.  "  Sum- 
mer is  coming,  your  summer,  the  pale  one,  the  second-best ! 
Houp-la,  Amarinda,  ma  belle  ! "  "  Oh  Printemps,  6  mon 
roi,  que  j'adore !  Oh  Printemps  qui — qui — qui — 6  Flore  ! 
Go  away,  Ilario ;  I  cannot  compose  while  you  are  by !  " 
Count  Hilarius  most  willingly  went  away. 

"  Laissa,"  said  the  Countess,  stopping  out  of  breath,  "  I 
have  often  thought  during  the  last  long  months  that  pur- 
gatory mnst  be  like  this,  all  black.  If  only  it  gets  a  little 
greener, — a  little  greener  !  " 


288  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

"You  did  not  like  it  any  bettor  wlien  it  was  wliite,"  re- 
plied Laissa. 

"  And  you  then  ?  "  cried  Margherita  impatiently. 

"  All,  M'am  Eita," — the  mulatto  shivered — "  You  speak 
of  jKirgatory ;  it  is  hell.  Paradise  is  flaming-hot.  Hell  is, 
like  Holland,  co/c?." 

At  the  Hague  things  had  been  different.  In  a  city  the 
seasons  do  not  change;  only  the  temperature  changes.  And 
the  Countess  Eexelaer's  temperature  had  been  regulated  by 
the  heating-apparatus. 

The  great  event  of  the  season  had  been  the  return  of  the 
old  family.  It  was  reported  in  the  village  that  Count  Eexe- 
laer,  when  told,  had  grown  white  with  rage,  and  had  sworn 
by  high  and  low  that  such  a  thing  should  never  be.  Yet 
he  could  not  prevent  it,  albeit  all  Ueynum  was  his.  In  by- 
gone days  Father  Bulbius  had  obtained  from  the  Baron  a 
life-long  lease,  at  a  nominal  rent,  of  the  house  he  still  occu- 
pied, with  the  right  to  under-let.  The  Father  now  immedi- 
ately availed  himself  of  this  privilege,  and  the  Baroness 
reaped  the  reward  of  her  early  bounties  to  the  Church.  The 
old  man  appeared  before  Veronica  one  Sunday  morning, 
after  mass,  in  the  full  pomp  of  his  sacerdotal  robes.  "  We 
are  going  to  occupy  the  house  by  the  Church,"  he  said. 
"  The  long  walk  is  too  much  for  me."  Veronica  bent  her 
head,  with  a  snort. 

TThen  Dievert  brought  the  Count  the  few  florins  of  the 
house-rent,  that  great  jDersonage  screamed  out  that  it  was  a 
conspiracy  and  he  would  have  the  law  of  the  lot.  But  he 
left  his  new  tenants  in  peace,  nevertheless ;  his  sister-in-law 
had  dropped  him  a  hint. 

He  scowled  fiercely,  with  averted  face,  the  first  time  he 
met  the  Baroness  and  Wendela  in  the  village.  But  Marghe- 
rita, venturing  out  in  a  close-carriage,  passed  an  old-fash- 
ioned gentleman  who  made  her  an  old-fashioned  bow.  She 
was  charmed  by  his  manner  and  said  so  at  dinner,  and  re- 


SOME  RETURNED  AND  SOME  DEPARTED.    289 

gretted  that  circumstances  prevented  their  knowing  their 
cousins.  "  What  do  you  think,  chevalier  ?  "  "  Madame," 
responded  the  gallant  de  Souza,  "  I  never  disagree  with  your 
excellent  judgment,"  and  Count  Rexelaer  understood  that 
his  son's  tutor  had  just  given  him  a  lesson  in  manners. 

The  various  grandees  of  the  neighbourhood  hastened  to 
call  at  the  quondam  Parsonage,  and  showed  themselves 
anxious  to  imply  all  permissible  admiration  of  the  comfort 
the  Baroness  had  conjured  up  around  her.  It  was  impossi- 
ble for  a  room  to  look  poor  which  the  Baroness  van  Rexelaer 
inhabited,  and  everyone  declared  that  the  Villa — "  Villa,"  if 
you  like,  but  the  Baroness  preferred  "  Farmhouse  " — was 
really  a  delightful  old  place.  As  indeed  it  was ;  numberless 
souvenirs  and  personal  treasures  lay  scattered  over  the  half- 
furnished  rooms,  and  Gustave  looked  after  these  relics  of 
the  past,  Gustave,  who  had  returned  to  the  family  from  an 
enforced  retirement,  during  their  Pension-life,  in  the  house 
of  a  sister,  whose  many  shiftless  children  had  worried  his 
neat  mind  into  despair.  Such  of  the  heirlooms  as  still  pos- 
sessed any  market  value  had  been  sold ;  the  rest  Mynheer 
van  Rexelaer  had  ultimately  ceded  to  Baron  Borck.  The 
latter  gentleman  would  have  brought  his  recalcitrant  wife 
to  visit  the  Baroness  but  that  he  dreaded  to  patronize  in 
misfortune.  Everyone  else  came,  however,  except  the  rich 
Amsterdam  bankers,  who  forgot. 

There  was  money  enough  now  for  simple  wants,  and 
freedom  from  anxiety.  The  family  subsisted  on  the  annual 
payment  from  "  the  Lady's  Dole,"  and  a  remnant  of  the 
Baroness's  little  fortune.  Wendela  resumed  her  lessons  with 
the  village-schoolmaster.  They  could  not  make  out  whether 
she  was  glad  to  be  back  or  not.  "  I  like  the  lessons,"  she 
said. 

Baron  Borck  intimated  to  Mynheer  van  Rexelaer  that 
the  Count  "  would  have  no  objection  "  to  the  family's  occa- 
sionally walking  in  the  park.  He  had  asked  him.  I'aron 
Borck  was  a  very  influential  num.     Mynheer  van  Rexelaer 


290  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

received  the  intimation  with  tlianks,  but  did  not  avail  him- 
self of  the  permission.  He  walked  out  among  the  villagers, 
who  stood  aloof,  deferential,  but  awkward  ;  his  sole  pleasures 
were  a  game  with  the  Father  or  a  chat  at  the  Chalk-house 
Farm. 

For  the  Driests  Avere  still  at  the  Clmlk-house  Farm,  and 
likely  to  remain  there.  It  had  happened  on  this  wise.  One 
evening  Thys  had  returned  home  from  the  village  with  the 
news  that  there  were  to  be  flags  and  fireworks  next  week  on 
the  occasion  of  Count  Eexelaer's  birthday,  and  a  state-visit 
of  congratulation  from  the  Commune. 

"  We  shall  soon  be  quit  of  all  that,"  said  the  Farmer 
roughly.  "  Fm  well-nigh  through  with  Baron  Borck's 
steward." 

Thys  went  and  drew  off  his  heavy  boots  in  the  passage. 
Then,  returning  to  the  great  blue-tiled  fire-place  which  takes 
up  one  wdiole  side  of  the  kitchen,  he  stationed  himself  be- 
hind his  foster-father's  chair.  "  Well,  Fll  say  it,"  he  began 
aloud, "  I've  talked  it  over  with  Lise,  and  she  says  I'd  better- 
Look  here,  father,  now  the  Baron's  back  in  Deynum,  how 
about  Joost  Hakkert  and  Job  Henniks  and  the  rest  ?  " 

"  What  are  you  driving  at  ?  "  replied  old  Driest.  "  Speak 
out,  Thys.     And  come  round  from  behind  my  chair." 

But  this  latter  command  Thys — the  great,  long  lout — 
preferred  to  ignore.  "  He'll  be  lonely  here,  will  the  Baron," 
said  Thys  boldly,  "  and  he'll  want  someone  to  speak  up  for 
him,  now.  Father,  I'm  thinking:  as  the  Baron's  come 
back,  it  won't  do  for  us  to  run  away." 

"You  should  have  thought  that  six  months  sooner, 
then,"  cried  the  exasperated  farmer,  bounding  in  his  ample 
arm-chair.  "  Get  to  your  work,  Thys,  and  leave  thinking 
to  clearer  heads  than  yours." 

The  young  fellow  was  slinking  away  obediently,  but  his 
uncle  still  called  after  him  :  "  And  you  say  that  Lise's 
thoughts  are  as  Avise  as  yours  ?  " 

"  Lise  fancied  I  might  be  right,  Father." 


SOME  RETUKNED  AND  SOME  DEPARTED.    291 

" '  Fancied.'  Is  that  the  way  you  young  ones  love  each 
other  ?  Hey,  there  she  is — the  hussy  !  " — for  Lise  appeared 
in  the  doorway,  bearing  a  steaming  tub — "  and  how  about 
your  mother  ?     Does  she  also  '  fancy  you  might  be  right '  ?  " 

"  Oh,  mother  knows  yoii  are,  father,"  said  the  girl  de- 
murely, and  she  added,  when  her  lover  had  left  the  room  : 
"  So  you  see  we  are  all  four  agreed." 

Thus  it  came  about  that  Farmer  Driest  went  up  to  the 
Castle  and  had  an  interview  with  the  Count.  He  came 
back  and  said  he  would  rather  not  speak  of  the  Count,  nor 
of  the  interview.  He  did  not  understand  the  new  Squire, 
he  said.  Being  only  a  farmer,  he  could  not  know  that  even 
a  great  noble  has  sometimes,  in  little  things,  to  do  as  his 
neighbours  want  him  to.  "  You  have  behaved  most  dis- 
gracefully," Count  Eexelaer  had  said.  "  You  can  stay  on  at 
the  farm.     Good-day." 

"  They  are  winning  their  way  to  the  widest  popularity," 
Mevrouw  Eexelaer-Borck  informed  her  mother.  "  Mina 
Borck  says  so,  and  she  is  the  best  person  to  know.  Hilarius' 
pays  for  a  Protestant  parson,  who  is  to  be  inducted  next 
autumn,  though  I  fear  he  is  somewhat  lukewarm  in  the  face 
of  papistical  presumption.  As  for  poor  Margherita,  with 
her  painful  antecedents,  dear  Mina  lends  her  excellent 
books,  but  I  warn  her  it  will  prove  not  the  slightest  use." 

"  Mina  Borck  is  a  fool,  and  so  you  may  tell  her,"  replied 
the  irascible  Dowager. — "If!"  thought  Mevrouw  Elizabeth. 
— "  If  Hilarius  intends  to  stand  for  the  States  Provincial 
in  the  Conservative  interest,  he  cannot  afford  to  make 
trouble  with  the  Catholics." 

"  Ikit,  Mamma,  ought  that  thought  to  deter  liim  ?  " 

The  old  Baroness  grinned  at  her  daughter  with  a  full 
display  of  her  pearly  teeth. 

"  Especially,  Mamma,  as  the  Liberal  Majority  is  over- 
whelming, in  any  case.     John  Borck  sees  to  that." 

"  Majority  or   not,  Rexelaer  has  his   way  to  make  at 
Court,  and  he  must  avoid  all  complications.     He  is  a  very 
20 


292  'J'HK  GREATER  GLORY. 

clever  man ;  I  admire  him  exceedingly,  in  spite  of  Ins  nerv- 
ous ways.  I  should  not  wonder  if  he  died  an  '  Excel- 
lency.' He  is  worth  two  of  your  husband,  Eliza,  as  far  as 
brains  go." 

"  He  cannot  hold  a  candle  to  my  husband  !  "  cried  Me- 
vrouw  Elizabeth  indignantly,  forgetting,  for  a  moment,  her 
awe  of  the  hooked  nose  and  chin,  "  neither  in  looks,  nor  in 
temper,  nor  in  manners,  nor  in  anything !  His  brains  are 
just  merely  his  wife's  money  that  was  scraped  together  out 
yonder,  selling — " 

"  Well,  I  only  said  he  had  enough,"  interrupted  the 
Dowager  impatiently.  "  And  how  about  the  police-sum- 
mons?   Is  that  little  difficulty  not  yet  out  of  the  world?" 

"  Xo,  indeed.  Simmans  purjjosely  keeps  the  thing 
going.  I  am  certain  he  does  it  on  purpose.  He  has  been 
down  there  three  several  times  to  examine  her,  as  he  says. 
It  is  absurd." 

"  Is  that  your  word  ?  "  said  the  fierce  old  Dowager.  "  I 
should  have  selected  another."  * 

It  Avas  quite  true  that  Simmans,  the  young  functionary 
with  the  sleepy  stare,  had  been  very  often  to  Deynum.  He 
lounged  about  the  Castle  and  grounds,  and  sometimes  was 
momentarily  amiable  to  Jane,  if  she  happened  to  be  stay- 
ing in  the  house.  That  young  lady  ignored  him,  or,  sud- 
denly awakened  to  his  presence,  endeavoured  to  make  him 
conversationally  ridiculous.  With  poor  success,  for  he  had 
a  habit  of  lazily  falling  on  his  feet. 

Mevrouw  Kexelaer-Borck  was  much  pained  by  her 
daughter's  behaviour,  more  by  the  young  man's,  and  most  by 
her  sister-in-law's.  On  no  account  would  she  have  brought 
Simmans  to  the  house,  could  she  have  guessed  that  he  sang- 
nigger  songs  to  the  banjo.  In  her  respectable  drawing- 
room  he  had  never  even  hinted  at  this  unjileasiug  accom- 
plishment. 

She  quarrelled  with  Margherita  about  more  things  than 


SOME  RETURNED  AND  SOME  DEPARTED.    293 

these  musical  performances  which  formed  the  delight  of 
the  whole  menagerie,  with  the  exception  of  the  howling 
dogs.  She  had  quietly  arranged,  for  instance,  to  have  the 
idolatrous  emblems  removed  from  the  closed  chapel.  Sud- 
denly the  Countess  intervened — "  with  disgraceful  vehe- 
mence," Elizabeth  afterwards  complained  to  her  husband — 
"  and  language  !  You  would  have  said  a  Scheveningen  fish- 
wife ! "  "  They  are  my  ancestors,"  cried  Margherita,  who 
had  really  taught  herself  to  believe  this,  and  she  stamped 
her  foot.  "  And  it  is  my  religion  !  "  "  Pooh,"  replied  the 
indignant  daughter  of  the  Borcks.  "  Your  ancestors  and 
your  religion !  They  are  both  equally  genuine.  I  would 
not  give  two-pence  for  either,  or  both  !  "  After  that,  she  de- 
parted from  the  Castle,  which  was  a  pity,  for  she  took  Jane 
with  her,  and  Jane's  hesitating  lover  ungallantly  remained 
behind.  He  explained  that  he  must  "  comj^lete  his  in- 
quiry." 

And  this  is  how  he  comi^reted  it.  With  a  rapidity  which 
astounded  him. 

"  Ah,  pooty  Miss  Jemima,  why-y-y 
You  make  dis  han'some  niggali  cry-y-y  ?  " 

• — "  chorus,  Laissa,  chorus ! "  Margherita  clapped  her  hands. 
Laissa  and  the  parrots  shrieked  undistinguishable  sounds, 
riorizel,  seated  at  his  mistress's  feet,  protested  dismally, 
with  uplifted  head,  in  spite  of  slaps.  The  singing-birds  all 
sang  their  loudest,  increasing,  as  the  hubbub  rose  higher,  in 
their  efforts  to  overpower  it.  IMargherita  laughed  and 
shouted  for  glee. 

"  '  You'll  be  sorry  nuf ,  when  han'some  uiggah  die  ! '  " 

Simmaus  stopped,  out  of  breath,  and  laid  aside  his  in- 
strument. "  I  like  it,"  began  Margherita  presently,  and 
her  voice  had  entirely  changed  its  tone.  "  Almost,  if  one 
closes  one's  eyes,  it  were  possible  to  imagine  oneself  out  in 


094  'i'1'1''  GREATER  GLORY. 

the  soft  warm  moonlight,  away  yonder,  beneath  the  veranda. 
Of  course  the  words  are  very  different,  but  the  sing-song  is 
just  the  same.  Laissa  does  the  crooning  far  better  than  you, 
Monsieur  Simmans  ;  still,  you  do  it  quite  well  enough  for  a 
poor  ignorant  European."  Laissa  grinned.  "  The  gentle- 
man's songs  are  good,  are  they  not,  Laissa?" 

"  Ours  are  better,"  said  the  waiting-woman  mechan- 
ically. 

"  You  are  rude.  I  feel  thirsty  Avith  laughing.  Go,  get 
me  something  to  drink.  Something  cool,  and  very  sweet, 
and  that  quenches  one's  thirst."    The  mulatto  slipped  away. 

"  Oh  the  loveliness  of  that  moonlight ! "  began  Mar- 
gherita,  left  alone  with  her  "  judge,"  as  she  was  pleased  to 
call  him.  "  You  JS^ortherners  have  no  idea  of  '  living.'  It 
is  not  worth  one's  while  to  Je." 

"  I  can  see  loveliness,"  he  replied,  fingering  his  banjo, 
"  everywhere.  It  is  a  thing  of  environment.  Xever,  before 
I  came  here,  had  I  an  idea  how  lovely  this  country  can  be." 

"  Indeed  ?  "  she  said.  "  Deynum  ?  But  you  must  have 
a  most  extraordinary  taste." 

"  The  dead  earth,"  he  continued,  "  is  not  beautiful  till 
the  sun  rises  upon  it.  I  have  seen  the  sun  rise  on  Deynum, 
Comtesse." 

"  At  this  time  of  the  year  ?  Do  you  expect  me  to  believe 
that?  Since  when  do  young  gentlemen  from  the  Hague 
get  up  to  enjoy  a  November  sunrise  ?  " 

True,  it  was  November.  How  long  was  this  kind  of 
thing  to  continue  ?  Was  she  only  a  beautiful  clod,  or  as  sly 
as  she  was  beautiful?  No  matter;  this  long-drawn  senti- 
mentalism  led  nowhere. 

"  I'm  so  sorry  about  the  annoyance  you  have  endured," 
he  said  briskly,  "  but,  of  course,  the  affair  will  be  hushed 
up.  I  hear  it  has  created  much  ill-feeling  at  the  Palace. 
Your  husband's  official  position,  you  know.  Nevermind; 
I  have  the  whole  thing  in  my  hands,  and^you  shall  not  hear 
of  it  again." 


SOME  RETURNED  AND  SOME  DEPARTED.   295 

"At  last?"  said  Margherita,  "and  when,  Monsieur,  will 
you  take  that  final  step  ?  " 

"  Immediately."  He  struck  a  few  notes  on  his  banjo. 
"  Shall  I  sing  to  you  again  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  do.  It  is  rather  fun.  Eollo,  Jocko,  attention, 
mes  amis  !     We  are  going  to  begin  !  " 

"  Ah,  but  what  I  sing  is  for  you  alone ! " 

"  I  could  not  jiossibly  be  so  selfish.  Flora  enjoys  it  too 
much." 

"  You  will  not  be  offended  ?  " 

"No.     Why?" 

And  with  an  expression  of  tenderest  feeling  pouring 
from  his  half-shut  eyes  he  sang  in  a  rollicking,  joking, 
devil-may-care  voice : 

'  "  Oh,  pootiest  M"am  Rita,  why-y-y 

You  make  dis  wretched  niggah  cry-y-y  ? 
Will  you  nevah  hear  him  sigh-igh-igh  ? ' " 

The  countenance  of  the  lady  on  the  sofa  suddenly 
clouded  over.  She  flung  herself  forward,  with  a  flash  like 
a  snake's,  and  struck  the  instrument,  in  the  vehemence  of 
her  lithe  brown  arm,  out  of  the  singer's  hands,  across  the 
brick  floor  of  the  conservatory. 

"  Encore  une  contravention !  "  she  said,  and  looked  him 
fiercely  in  the  face.  "  Dressez  proces-verbal.  Monsieur  le 
Substitut."  And  then,  as  Laissa  entered  with  a  tray,  "  Tell 
the  Jonker  Eeinout,  Laissa,  that  I  should  like  to  look  at  his 
sketches,  now." 

That  evening  the  family  at  the  Castle  sat  down  to  din- 
ner alone. 

A  fortnight  later  "  the  Countess  R ,  wife  of  an  Oflicer 

connected  with  the  Royal  Household,"  was  sentenced  to  a 
fine  in  one  of  the  petty  courts.  And  shortly  before  Christ- 
mas the  engagement  was  announced  of  the  Freule  Jane  van 
Rexelaer  with  Simmans,  "  the  son  of  Simmans,  the  Secrc- 


296  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

tary-Geiieral,  you  know."  Presently  the  young  lady  received 
a  parcel  from  her  kind  aunt  at  Deynum,  containing  a  guitar- 
player,  one  of  those  beautiful  "  etrennes  "  which  overflow 
the  Paris  confectioners'  windows  at  that  season  of  the  year. 
The  doll's  head  was  empty,  but  the  next  post  brought  a  box 
of  the  perishable  sweets  called  "  fondants." 

"  Insert  them  from  the  outside,  my  dear  Jane,"  wrote 
the  Countess,  "  in  this  mannikin  I  send  you  from  Dey- 
num." 

"Is  there  a  joke?"  asked  Mevrouw  Elizabeth,  who,  at 
that  moment,  forgave  even  Margherita. 

"  No,  indeed,"  replied  Jane  gravely. 

"  The  '  Fondants '  are  delicious,"  said  sweet-toothed 
Kolline. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


"  rinT^QTXTQ   " 


COUSINS 

So  summer  faded  into  winter,  and  winter  blossomed 
into  summer  at  Deynum,  and  "  the  Family  "  went  away  to 
the  Hague  before  Christmas  and  did  not  return  till  quite 
late  in  the  spring.  Count  Hilarius  was  now  an  important 
personage  in  Court  circles.  Everybody  liked  him  ;  he  was 
so  obliging  and  unpretending,  and  he  had  plenty  of  money. 
"And  that  magnificent  place  in  the  country,  you  know, 
which  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  younger  branch  of 
the  family,  till  it  came  back  to  the  Count  through  his  wife. 
An  extraordinary  story.  Yes,  he  is  a  very  great  man,  is  van 
Eexelaer  van  Deynum." 

Margherita  went  to  several  balls  and  looked  splendid  in 
her  diamonds.  She  began  to  like  society,  pleased  with  her 
success,  once  she  had  picked  herself  oif  the  sofa  and  ad- 
mired her  figure  in  the  glass.  "  I  shall  be  ugly  soon 
enough,"  she  said.  People  declared  that  she  had  "  du 
chic,"  and  stopped  to  stare  with  sudden  interest  at  the 
heiress  of  the  house  of  "  La  Jolais-Farjolle — one  of  the 
greatest  families  in  Europe !  You  can  see  it  by  the  way 
she  carries  her  head."  Nothing  is  more  amazing  than  the 
ignorance,  in  these  matters,  of  "  the  few  who  know." 

And  the  Countess  even  gave  a  couple  of  great  recep- 
tions, one  towards  the  encT  of  the  season,  a  second-best 
one,  in  honour  of  the  marriage  of  the  Freule  Jane.  "  Rol- 
line  must  do  better,"  Count  Hilarius  remarked  pointedly 
to  his  sister-in-law.     When  she  repeated  the   words — two 


298  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

hours  later — to  her  husband,  "  He  is  mad  with  ambition," 
said  the  tranquil  judge. 

A  week  or  two  after  the  house  at  Deynum  liad  been 
definitely  shut  up,  the  Baron  one  morning  stole  timidly 
into  the  jaark.  This  day  he  did  not  get  farther  than  the 
sight  of  the  shuttered  windows.  Twenty-four  hours  later 
he  was  trying  to  pat  one  of  the  deer.  It  was  a  mistake. 
His  wiser  daughter  curtly  refused  to  accomj)any  him. 

And  their  life  flowed  on  smoothly,  monotonously,  not 
unhappily  withal.  The  Baroness  went  among  her  poor 
more  diligently  than  ever  ;  the  Baron  pottered  about  in  the 
village,  surrounded  by  a  halo  of  pitiful  respect.  He  was 
too  gentle-natured  to  resent  the  pity.  And  of  evenings 
Father  Bulbius  would  drop  in  for  his  game  and  a  glass  of 
"  King's  Wine." 

"  The  Count  has  not  got  this,''^  said  Mynheer  van  Rexe- 
laer,  tapping  his  glass.  "  Hush,  mon  ami,"  interposed  the 
Baroness  M'ith  a  smile.  "  You  are  right,  my  dear,"  said  the 
Baron. 

Wendela  alone  found  no  strength  in  her  heart  for  rec- 
oncilement with  life.  Perhaps  because  to  her  that  loss 
was  an  anticipation  which  for  her  parents  was  only  a  re- 
gret. She  had  resolved,  from  the  first,  to  remain  pitiless 
to  her  own  sorrow,  and  they  who  have  the  metal  to  make 
such  a  resolution  seldom  lack  the  grij)  to  maintain  it.  Be- 
tween her  parents  and  herself  it  had  built  up  a  barrier 
which  she  hated  and  resented  without  the  power,  or  the 
wish,  to  remove  it.  She  lived  an  emotional  existence,  not 
outside  but  inside  her  even  life  with  them,  in  an  inner 
chamber  of  which  her  firm  hand  kept  the  key.  Silent  al- 
most to  moroseness,  she  would  occasionally  break  out  into 
demonstrative  affection  towards  her  mother,  but  always 
with  a  perceptible  jerk,  as  if  recalling  how  much  she  loved 
her.  To  her  father  she  was  dutiful  and  reserved,  with  a 
conscious  check  on  her  thoughts  of  him.  For  she  felt 
herself,  unadmittedly,  to  possess  one  of  those  strong-willed 


"  COUSINS."  299 

yet  impulsive  characters  which  are  habitually  rendered 
wretched  by  the  consciousness  of  having  spoken — and 
thought — not  at  all,  or  too  much.  A  faithful,  truthful 
woman's  nature,  strong-hearted  and  clear-brained,  one  of 
those  women  the  superficial  write  down  "  disagreeable," 
because  of  their  straight  lips  and  solemn  eyes. 

Considering  all  things,  she  was  receiving  a  fair  educa- 
tion, from  the  schoolmaster  and  her  mother  combined,  an 
education  which  would  prove  absolutely  useless  in  these 
days  of  diplomas  and  examinations,  but  of  such  things  the 
Baroness  knew  nothing,  excejiting  that  they  were  a  sin 
against  Genesis  iii. 

One  evening  Wendela  looking  up  from  "  Ta  douleur, 
Duperrier,"  which  she  was  committing  to  memory,  abruptly 
apostrophized  her  father,  in  his  arm-chair  by  the  fire. 
"  Papa,  when  I  am  grown  up,  shall  I  be  obliged  to  earn  my 
own  living  ?  "  "  No,  Wendela ;  girls  like  you  cannot  earn 
their  own  living.  What  makes  you  ask ? "  "I  wanted  to 
know,"  replied  Wendela.  The  Baron  smiled  contentedly  in 
the  shade.  AVendela,  on  her  parents'  death,  would  be  en- 
titled to  the  entire  capital  of  "  The  Lady's  Dole."  For, 
then,  at  any  rate,  Strum  must  rest  convinced  that  there 
would  never  again  be  a  Baroness  Eexelaer. 

If  the  girl  had  a  pleasure,  it  was  her  hidden  dream-life, 
to  which  she  clung,  even  while  conscious  of  having  long- 
outgrown  it.  She  still  loved  to  weave  brave  fancies  around 
her  Pilgrim  Knight,  not  pretty  little  fairy  idylls,  but  strong, 
bright  tales  of  chivalry ;  wrong  redressed  and  innocence 
upheld.  Life  was  dark  and  thunder-threatened, — devil- 
haunted,  as  her  mother  said  ;  through  it  rode  her  Hero  of 
the  Closed  Visor,  in  a  trail  of  light. 

"  There  is  a  boy,"  she  said  once  to  her  mother,  break- 
ing one  of  the  long  periods  of  silence,  so  common  between 
them. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  child  ?" 

"  At  the  Castle.     There  is  a  boy  ?  " 


300  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

"  Yes,  certainly ;  you  know  there  is." 
"I  hate  him." 

"  Wendela,  you  are  now  fifteen.     You  arc  too  old  for 
such  childish  sayings." 
Wendela  bit  her  lips. 

There  was  no  reason  for  anyone  to  hate  Eeinout.  Cer- 
tainly the  reason  could  never  be  envy.  He  was  now  six- 
teen, and  the  least  enviable  of  youths. 

When  first  the  boredom  of  Monsieur  de  Souza's  stories 
settled  heavy  on  his  powdered  and  periwigged  young  head, 
Reinout  had  turned  right  and  left,  as  has  been  shown,  in 
vain  hope  of  escape.  The  dry  books  of  the  Deynum  library 
disgusted  him  ;  if  he  dashed  away  into  the  wide  liberty  of 
the  woods  and  fields,  he  saw  a  scornful  smile  go  wreathing 
his  father's  bloodless  lips.  And  as  he  grew  in  years,  he  un- 
derstood more  clearly  that  his  bringing-up  was  not  like  that 
of  other  boys.  Old  people  thought  him  charming — a  dan- 
gerous sign.  He  told  the  Countess  de  Bercy  at  dinner  a 
long  story  about  the  late  Empress  of  Russia's  strange  pas- 
sion for  bananas  which  were  brought  over  direct  from  the 
West  Indies,  and  "  after  her  death  no  one  ever  rescinded  the 
order,  and  recently  the  Emperor  came  on  a  cellar  piled  up 
with  baskets  of  rotting  fruit."  He  kissed  the  Countess's 
hand  as  he  bowed  her  from  her  chair,  and  he  caught  the 
scowl  of  disgust  at  his  "  confounded  priggishness "  in  her 
student-nephew  Ivo's  eyes. 

"  Papa,"  said  Eeinout  next  morning  to  his  father, 
"  I  should  like  to  learn  about  everything,  like  other 
boys." 

"  Y^ou  can  have  masters,  when  we  got  back  to  the  Hague, 
as  you  had  last  wdnter,  Rene,"  replied  the  Count.  "  What 
is  it  you  want  particularly  to  learn  ?  " 

"  All  about  everything,"  burst  out  Reinout,  and  then  he 
felt  what  a  stupid  answer  that  was  for  a  lad  of  his  age.  "  I 
mean,"  he  added  hastily,  "  I  want  to  know  why  things  are 


•  "  COUSINS."  301 

like  this  and  what  is  going  to  change  them.  And  about 
right  and  wrong,  and  suifering,  and  the  end  of  it  alL" 

"  You  will  attend  a  confirmation  class  in  a  year  or  two," 
said  Count  Eexelaer  coldly.  "  As  for  the  rest,  you  are  rath- 
er vague.  If  you  mean  political  economy,  you  will  have 
enough  of  that  for  your  diplomatic  examination.  You  will 
find  it  is  all  empty  talk."  And  Count  Eexelaer  walked  out 
of  the  room,  leaving  his  son  considerably  nonplussed. 

In  sheer  despair  Reinout  precipitately  leaped  into  inde- 
pendent thought  at  an  age  when  most  boys  still  allow  their 
teachers  to  think  for  them.  He  became  a  source  of  con- 
stant vexation  to  M.  de  Souza.  "  Why,"  he  said  one  morn- 
ing to  that  estimable  "Court  Circular,"  "do  the  villagers 
live  in  little  houses  and  we  in  a  Castle  ?  " 

"  You  know  very  well  that  such  is  God's  Ordinance,"  re- 
plied the  Chevalier  impatiently. 

"  But  all  men  are  equal,"  persisted  Eeinout  mischie- 
vously. "  And  there  seems  to  be  no  reason  wdiy  all  men 
should  not  be  gentlemeu,  too." 

"  All  men  are  not  equal,  and  you  know  it.  That  was  a 
lie  of  the  French  revolution.  But  if  you  mean  that  money 
has  nothing  to  do  with  being  a  gentleman,  you  are  right." 

"  I  like  the  French  revolution,"  retorted  Rene,  knowing 
nothing  about  it.     "  I  wish  it  had  succeeded." 

After  this,  Monsieur  de  Souza  felt  that  his  mission  was 
ended.  He  continued  to  live  with  the  family,  but,  shortly 
before  Reinout's  sixteenth  birthday,  the  boy  received  an- 
other tutor,  a  very  clever  scholar  although  not  a  cultured 
one.  Reinout  preferred  Monsieur  de  Souza,  with  his  old- 
world  ideas  of  honour,  yet  he  could  not  complain,  having 
asked  for  the  change.  Besides,  he  now  studied  the  Dutch 
Constitutional  System  and  Political  Economy,  and  Inter- 
national Law  and  a  number  of  other  sciences,  useful  and 
ornamental. 

Count  Rexelaer  warmly  thanked  the  Chevalier  for  the 
complete  success  of  his  plan.     Undoubtedly  it  had  worked 


302  '^IlE   GREATER  GLORY. 

well  in  many  wa3's.  Informed  iu  a  pleasantly  cynical  man- 
ner, of  tlie  littleness  of  all  the  world's  greatnesses  and  the 
insipidity  of  its  pleasures,  Reinout  never  even  experienced 
that  delightful  curiosity  of  naughtiness  which  leads  so  many 
boys  astray.  He  did  not  want  to  lift  a  veil  which  had  al- 
ready been  lifted  for  him  with  a  neat  arrangement  of  dra- 
peries. He  had  "  seen  the  world."  That  is,  he  had  been 
shown,  as  in  a  peepshow,  one  little  corner  of  it,  tastefully 
laid  out  in  flower-beds,  an  Eden,  whose  Adams  and  Eves 
have  long  ago  lost  all  that  made  a  Paradise,  except,  perhaps, 
their  naked  shamelessness. 

He  did  not  like  the  city,  at  least  not  that  stuccoed  part 
of  it  in  which  he  lived.  He  was  eager  to  get  back  to  Dey- 
num  and  glad  of  the  Count's  permission  to  start  a  day  or 
two  before  the  others,  with  his  tutor.  "  And  see  the  fires 
are  lighted,"  said  Margherita.  "  I  feel  sure  we  ought  to 
have  waited  till  June." 

Eeinout,  immediately  on  arriving,  went  out  into  the  full 
beauty  of  the  May  afternoon.  The  place  looked  glorious, 
he  thought,  so  fresh  and  green  and  quiet.  He  drew  a  deep 
breath  of  healthful  air,  air  strong  with  the  awakening  of 
springtide,  amid  the  rustle  of  the  mighty  oaks.  "  Oh,  de- 
licious," he  said. 

The  great  park  lay  peaceful  around  him,  in  its  own  ma- 
jestic loneliness.  Here  and  there  the  sober  deer  moved 
vaguely  behind  the  trees.  A  dragon-fly  Avent  sailing  past, 
and  suddenly  Reinout  felt  how  spacious  God  is.  Only  Man 
is  cramped. 

Presently  the  chapel  came  in  sight,  in  its  tangle  of  shel- 
tering ferns.  He  smiled  as  he  remembered  a  recent  differ- 
ence of- opinion  between  his  mother  and  aunt  ElizaTjeth. 
Mevrouw  Rexelaer-Borck  had  suggested  utilizing  the  little 
spire  as  a  dove-cot ;  Margherita  had  objected,  strenuously, 
and  there  had  been  a  scene. 

Reinout  stepped  off  the  path  and  went  round  by  the 


"COUSINS."  303 

chaucel,  where  a  sight  met  him  for  which  he  was  certainly 
not  prepared.  High  up,  on  the  broad  ledge  outside  one  of 
the  arched  windows,  a  tall  girl  was  perched,  her  feet  hang- 
ing down  ungracefully,  her  face  pressed  against  the  glass. 
Of  course  he  recognised  her  at  once,  though  he  had  never 
seen  her  before  but  from  a  distance.  And  she,  hearing  the 
soft  swish  of  his  approaching  steps,  turned  round  hastily, 
in  a  whirlwind  of  long,  dark  hair,  lost  her  balance,  gave  a 
cry  of  impatience,  and  came  down  with  a  rush.  He  ran 
forward  and  caught  her. 

"  Not  hurt,  I  hope  ? "  he  said,  steadying  himself,  and 
her,  under  the  shock. 

"  You  needn't  have  stopj^ed  me,  thank  you,"  she  an- 
swered roughly,  and  stood  panting,  not  only  from  the  fall. 
"  I  was  coming  down,"  she  said. 

The  twinkle  which  came  into  his  eyes  said  plainly  :  "  Is 
that  your  usual  way  of  doing  it?"  But  that  kind  of  coura- 
geous fib  was  not  one  which  Reinout,  "  splendide  mendax," 
would  take  excej)tion  at. 

If  Wendcla  had  a  good  quality,  however,  it  was  straight- 
forwardness. "  Of  course  I  lost  my  hold,"  she  added  hastily, 
*'  But  that  was  your  fault."  She  felt  furious  with  him  for 
having  caught  her  dangling  there. 

"lam  so  sorry,"  he  said  meekly.  "I  hadn't  an  idea. 
Nobody  ever  comes  near  this  place,  you  know." 

"  They  used  to  come,"  she  answered  quickly.  "  And 
that  didn't  use  to  be  there  then."  She  pointed  to  an  ugly 
stain  of  orange  damp.  "  But  they  were  our  people,"  she 
added.     "  It  is  different." 

"  They  are  my  people  too,"  said  the  youth,  smiling.  "  I 
am  Reinout  van  Rexelaer." 

She  flushed.  "  They  are  not  everybody's  people,"  she 
replied  recklessly.  She  felt  very  high  and  mighty,  though 
conscious  of  discovering  the  very  weaknesses  she  would  fain 
have  hid.  Being  fifteen,  and  a  woman,  she  was  tremulously 
scornful  of  male  children  of  seventeen.     "  I  suppose  I  must 


304  THE   GREATER  GLORY, 

apologise  for  intruding,"  she  said  magnificently,  and  gath- 
ered her  scant  skirts  about  her  and  dejijarted. 

Eeinout  asked  his  father,  as  soon  as  that  gentleman  ar- 
rived, to  have  the  chapel  cleaned. 

"Why  not?"  said  the  Count,  who  always  said  "Why 
not  ?  "  when  careless  what  he  said, 

A  month  or  two  later  the  young  fellow  met  his  ungra- 
cious "  cousin  "  again.  He  was  riding  down  a  quiet  lane  in 
the  full  white  flame  of  a  July  noon.  The  dusty  trees  and 
half-hid  wayside-flowers  slept,  still  but  dreamy,  beneath  the 
blazing  splendours  of  the  sky.  Eeinout's  horse  heaved  its 
moist  and  fragrant  flanks  to  the  creak  of  the  saddle,  in  all 
the  deliciously  strong  reserve  of  a  walking-jjace,  Eeinout 
himself  was  moodily  thinking  of  nothing,  and  he  came 
upon  Wendela  where  she  dozed  against  a  hawthorn-hedge,  a 
book  and  a  basket  of  wild  roses  in  her  lap. 

She  stoj)ped  him  with  a  gesture,  as  he  took  oif  his  cap. 
She  had  been  dreaming  of  her  dear  "  Knight  Pilgrim,"  and 
she  looked  up, — out  of  the  dulness  of  her  daily  life,  at  this 
courtly  cavalier  with  the  checked  knickerbockers  and  olive 
cheeks.  "  Thank  you,"  she  said,  "  about  the  Chapel."  She 
blushed,  and  suddenly  he  saw  that  she  was  charming. 

"  Oh,  my  father  ordered  that  to  be  done,"  he  answered 
lightly. 

"ISTo,  it  was  you,"  insisted  Wendela.  "When  Papa 
came  home  and  told  Mamma,  I  knew  it  was  you."  She 
hesitated.  "  I  want  you  to  do  me  one  more  favour.  You 
couldn't  let  me  into  the  Chapel,  I  suppose,  just  once  ? " 
His  answer  did  not  follow  immediately,  and,  as  the  seconds 
slowly  fell  upon  her  waiting  heart,  she  turned  and  fled.  In 
a  moment  he  had  caught  her  up.  "  Freule,  Freule,"  he 
cried  piteously,  "  you  are  losing  all  your  flowers ! "  She 
stood  still,  gasping,  in  the  broiling  July  sun.  "  Of  course 
you  can  go  to  the  Chapel,"  he  added,  "  I  will  ask  my  father 
for  the  key." 

"  Pooh  ! "    she  said,  so  vigorously  that  his  horse  shied. 


•'  COUSINS."  305 

She  lifted  her  firm  eyes  to  his,  and  suddenly  he  saw  that  she 
was  also  beautiful.  "  Nobody  must  know  that  I  asked  you," 
she  continued.  "  I  want  to  go  in  the  dead  of  night.  Just 
once." 

"Nonsense.     And  the  watchman?" 

"  I  knew  the  watchman's  hours,  before  ever  you  had 
heard  of  him,"  she  retorted.  "  Do  you  think  /  am  afraid 
of  the  night  in  Deynum  ?  " 

"  Freule,"  he  made  answer  in  "  a  still,  small  voice,"  "  I 
shall  be  outside  the  Chapel  to-night,  at  twelve  o'clock,  with 
the  key.  At  the  risk  of  my  life  I  shall  abstract  it  from  my 
father's  desk  !  Till  then  the  Holy  Saints  have  you  in  their 
keeping ;  fair  maiden.  Good  day." 

She  thought  he  was  laughing  at  her  religion,  but  what 
can  you  expect  of  a  Gueux  ?  With  nervous  hand  she  drew 
a  little  book  from  under  her  tumbled  flowers.  "  Take  this," 
she  said.  "  Don't  tell  anybody  I  had  it.  The  schoolmaster 
gave  it  me  a  year  ago." 

"  But  why  should  I  take  it?" 

"  Because  it's  the  dearest  thing  I  have.  There  !  "  And, 
dropping  the  book  on  his  knee,  she  left  him.  This  time  he 
did  not  follow  her. 

"  Eather  a  disagreeable  child,"  he  thought,  as  he  sat 
looking  after  her  retreating  figure,  twisted  in  the  saddle,  her 
book  in  his  careless  hand. 

Said  she  to  herself  on  her  way  homeward  :  "  We  are 
quits.  I've  paid  him,  for  what  I  wanted  most,  with  the 
dearest  thing  I  had.  I  hate  him.  And,  as  Papa  says,  pay 
your  enemy,  however  you  may  treat  your  friend.  Mamma 
doesn't  know ;  she  hates  nobody.  As  if  it  were  right  to  love 
thieves." 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE    DAWN    OF   THE    HIGHER    LIFE. 

Reixout,  walking  his  horse  in  the  blazing  sunshine, 
peeped  curiously  into  the  cheaply-bound  little  volume  which 
was  her  "  dearest  thing  on  earth." 

"•  Verses  ! "  he  said  with  ready  scorn.  "  All  women  are 
alike." 

He  knew  enough  about  verses.  Sometimes  he  read  the 
books  his  mother  brought  him  and  sometimes  he  praised 
them  unread.  "  Always  say  'yes'  to  a  woman,"  the  Cheva- 
lier was  wont  to  remark,  "  if  you  feel  it  would  hurt  her  to 
hear  you  say :  No." 

"  0  mon  ame. 
"  0  ma.flamme. 
"  0  que  je  t'aime. 

That  is  poetry. 

"  Toujours  du  meme." 

"  None  of  my  talent  has  descended  to  my  child,"  sighed 
Margherita.  "  And  yet  I  feel  sure  he  will  be  some  sort  of  a 
genius.  Perhaps  a  Prime  Minister."  "A  what?"  asked 
the  Count,  and  walked  away  to  dissemble  his  laughter.  He 
rejoiced,  however,  to  think  that  his  wife  had  come  round  to 
his  view,  whatever  her  road. 

"  Well,  she  begins  young  with  her  love-ditties,"  thought 
Reinout,  but,  nevertheless,  on  his  return,  he  settled  himself 
in  a  window-seat  with  the  book.  It  was  a  Belgian  edition 
of  Victor  Hugo's  "  Les  Voix  Interieures." 


THE  DAWN  OF  THE   HIGHER  LIFE.  307 

He  glanced  at  the  first  page.  The  opening  words 
struck  him. 

"  This  Age  is  gi"eat  and  strong  .  .  ." 

The  quietly  impressive  words,  so  unlike  much  of  Victor 
Hugo's  later  redundancy,  sank  slowly  into  his  soul.  Here 
was  a  gospel  of  the  time,  which  met  him  half-way  on  his 
hap-hazard  path.  "  Are  you  looking  for  me  ?  "  It  said. 
"  I  am  here." 

When  he  had  finished,  he  turned  back  and  began  again. 
He  had  never  read  other  poetry  before  than  love-songs  and 
bouts-rimes. 

And  then  he  plunged  headlong  into  the  piece  which  fol- 
lows, that  magnificent  poem  on  the  death  of  the  exiled 
Charles  X.  Here  the  novice  soon  floundered  out  of  his 
dejith,  but  he  still  held  on,  borne  irresistibly  forward  by  the 
rush  of  the  rhythm,  as  all  must  understand  who  appreciate 
the  sublimest  of  spouters.  It  is  impossible  to  stop  ;  the 
very  bewilderment  of  the  reader  twists  him  helplessly  on- 
wards amid  those  whirlpools  of  eloquence.  And  in  all  the 
Titan's  endless  volumes  Reinout  could  not  have  lighted  on 
a  poem  more  calculated  to  impress  him  than  this  one. 
Aristocrat  as  he  must  ever  remain  in  all  the  prejudices  of 
his  bringing-up,  lover  as  he  had  been  destined  to  become, 
from  childhood,  of  that  lowly  human  greatness  which  your 
mere  aristocrat  ignores,  this  song  of  tenderest  reconciliation 
struck  chords  within  his  being  of  whose  existence  his  incom- 
pleteness had  never  been  aware.  And  when  he  reached, 
with  palpitating  heart  and  eager  breath,  the  great  finale : 

"Oh  Poesy,  to  heaven  on  fn'ghtetl  wing  thou  lliest!" 

he  started  to  his  feet,  and  stood  staring  before  him,  into  a 
new  gulf  yawning  ahead — or  was  it  a  visionary  ladder, 
whose  top  is  hid  in  Heaven  ?  A  world  of  illusion,  Idea — 
the  soul-world  of  beautiful  hopes  and  fancies — the  world  in 
which  all  men  are  brothers,  great  and  strong  and  greatly 


308  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

wortliy — a  world  at  which  the  cynic  laughs,  with  tears  for 
laughter — ;  at  last  he  beheld  it;  uplifted  on  the  pinions  of 
his  ignorance,  into  cloud  laud, — and  beyond  that, — to  the 
sun  !  He  will  never  forget  that  moment,  although  to  this 
day  he  cannot  tell  yon,  in  intelligible  prose,  what  took 
place  in  his  soul,  0  the  sweetness  of  it !  The  sadness 
of  it !  The  beautiful,  sorrowful  hope !  He  did  not 
know  what  he  was  saying,  as  he  stumbled  on  through 
a  wilderness  of  magnificent  words.  But  gradually  a  sin- 
gle thought  stood  out  clear  among  all  this  confusion 
of  greatnesses,  the  majesty — not  of  your  highnesses  and 
excellencies  and  eminences — but  of  the  naked  Soul  of 
man.  He  had  been  yearning  for  it,  searching  for  it, 
unwittingly ;  at  last  he  could  gmsp  it,  and  read  the  riddle 
of  life. 

All  that  afternoon  he  hurried  upwards,  a  breathless  ex- 
plorer on  Alpine  heights.  Like  an  Indian  Prince  from  his 
father's  palace,  he  had  escaped  out  of  the  gilded  cage  where 
the  neat  canaries  warbled,  away  into  the  regions  of  the 
angels'  song,  "  Peace  on  earth,  good-will  among  men.  Hal- 
lelujah ! "  His  soul  was  drunken  with  poesy.  He  tore  off 
the  kid  glove  from  his  heart. 

He  was  utterly  unreasonable  and  nonsensical,  full  of 
clap-trap  and  tall- talk  and  foolishness.  Yes,  thank  God ; 
he  was  all  that  at  last. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  is  the  matter,  Kene  ?  "  asked  the 
Countess  at  dinner.  "  Oh  nothing."  Of  course.  She 
wearied  of  asking  him.  But  she  found  him  in  the  library, 
late  that  evening,  poring  over  a  large  volume,  half  a  dozen 
others  scattered  around.  He  looked  up  impatiently,  as  she 
came  closer,  and  tenderly  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
"  What  have  you  got  there  ? "  she  asked.  "  Ah,  that  is 
right.     He  is  pretty  ;  is  he  not  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  replied  savagely,  but  he  went  and  opened 
the  door  very  courteously  for  her  and  touched  her  brow 


THE  DAWN   OF   THE   HIGHER  LIFE.  309 

with  his  lips.     Theu  he  returned  to  his  Propliet,  his  Priest 
of  the  Most  High  ! 

A  couple  of  hours  later  he  was  standing,  in  the  soft  sum- 
mer darkness,  before  the  empty  altar  of  the  hushed  little 
chapel,  by  Wendela's  side. 

"  It  is  desecrated,"  said  the  girl  in  a  low  voice.  "  You 
have  desecrated  it.  I  am  glad  to  have  seen  it  once  more. 
From  the  window  up  there  I  could  just  reach  the  tip  of  the 
Pilgrim's  helmet.  Do  you  know  which  is  the  Pilgrim  ? 
No,  poor  boy,  you  know  nothing.     I  will  show  you." 

The  chapel  was  very  softly  lighted  by  the  radiance  of 
the  moon-filled  night ;  busts  and  tablets  stood  out  gently  in 
a  glamour  of  silvered  gloom. 

Mechanically  Reinout  followed  the  daughter  of  the  real 
Eexelaers  as  she  led  him  from  monument  to  monument, 
telling  in  an  awe-struck  whisper,  stories  of  the  men  and 
Avomen  whose  passion-laden  existences  had  sunk  to  rest  be- 
neath these  effigies  and  urns.  "  Perhaps  they  are  listen- 
ing now,"  she  said,  "  to  hear  if  I  tell  you  right  ? "  The 
heavy  night-air  breathed  warm  about  the  pair.  A  little 
rustle  awoke  in  the  aisle.     She  caught  hold  of  his  arm. 

"  Isn't  it  a  strange  thought,"  whispered  Reinout,  "  that 
all  the  lives  of  these  dead  men  and  women  are  concentrated, 
as  it  were,  in  you  and  me  ?  You  and  me,  come  to  visit 
them  together  in  the  dead  of  night." 

"  Papa  says—,"  she  began,  and  then  she  turned  passion- 
ately upon  him  :  "  These  are  mine,"  slie  said,  "  mine  only. 
Do  you  understand,  you— Reinout  Rexelaer  ?  All  the  rest 
was  mine  once  too,  and  these  are  still." 

"  But,  Freule— "  he  stammered. 

"Oh  don't  pity  me;  I  won't  have  your  pity.  I  am 
proud  of  our  shame.  Some  day,  perhaps,  my  dead,  who  are 
not  really  dead,  might  recover  me  the  rights  of  which 
your  father  robbed  us.  And  then  what  would  be  left  to 
you  ?  " 


310  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

"  Only  myself,"  he  replied,  with  a  sorry,  half-amused 
smile. 

This  answer  impressed  her,  but  she  fought  against  the 
sensation.  "  And  what  is  yourself  ? "  she  asked,  her  deli- 
cate little  nose  high  in  air.  "  With  us  it  is  different.  Eich 
or  beggared,  high  or  humble,  as  Papa  says,  what  need  we 
care  ?     For,  ours  is  the  greater  glory,  even  in  disgrace." 

"  I  envy  you  that  conviction,"  he  answered  thoughtfully, 
and  with  no  suspicion  of  a  sneer. 

She  held  out  her  hand  on  the  Chapel-steps. 

"  Good-bye,  Knight  Pilgrim." 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

THE    DAWN    PROVES   CLOUDY. 

"  Well,  I  shall  say  it,"  declared  Veronica.    "  Why  not  ?  " 

"  What  ?  "  asked  the  Father. 

"  Does  your  Eeverence  not  know  ?  Then  I  shall  keep 
my  own  counsel.  But  my  opinion  is :  why  should  anyone 
be  afraid  of  their  betters  ?  If  really  our  betters,  the  less 
reason  to  be  afraid.  And  if  not — "  Veronica  whisked  a 
dish  off  the  table  and  herself  from  the  room. 

Father  Bulbius  bent  over  the  tattered  volume  on  his 
knees,  leisurely  filling  his  pipe  with  the  finest  of  Turkish 
tobaccos.  He  was  no  longer  the  happy  possessor  of  an  un- 
tidy snuggery  ;  the  new  house  contained  but  two  rooms  on 
the  ground  floor,  and  Veronica  had  refused  to  abandon  the 
"parlour."  Occasionally  the  latter  uncomfortable  apart- 
ment would  be  honoured  with  a  state  visit  from  the  Cheva- 
lier de  Souza,  who  was  both  a  freethinker  at  heart  and  a 
Catholic  in  etiquette,  and  confessed  and  communicated  at 
Easter.  Other  intercourse  with  the  Castle  there  was  none. 
The  brief  enjoyment  of  Eeinout's  friendship  had  ended  in 
a  ceremonious  salute. 

Veronica,  on  her  part,  had  no  proper  appreciation  of 
ceremony.  Having  made  up  her  mind  to  bestow  a  piece  of 
it  on  the  gentlefolks,  she  called  out  one  day  from  the  door  of 
"  our  hovel,"  as  she  chose  to  designate  the  Parsonage, 
"  Hey,  Mynheer  !     You  are  the  Jonker  from  the  Castle  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  replied  the  young  man,  standing  still. 

"  I  know  you  are.     There's  something  I  want  to  say  to 


312  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

you,  Jonker.  Fve  no  more  reason  to  love  tlie  Baron's 
family  than  you  have.  They've  turned  us  out  of  our  house 
as  you've  turned  them  out  of  theirs,  and  without  paying, 
which  is  worse.  But  when  it  comes  to  keeping  a  woman 
away  from  the  place  she  is  used  to  pray  in,  twice  a  day  for 
years,  and  all  her  ancestors  lying  round  awaiting  her,  I  say 
that  it's  a  cruel  thing.  And  I'd  say  the  same  to  the  Count 
your  father,  if  I  thought  he'd  listen  to  the  likes  of  me.  But 
I  think  he  looks  prouder  than  you,  in  spite  of  your  haughty 
face  that  God  gave  you  to  go  and  be  a  Count  with,  as 
Counts  there  must  be  in  this  world  below,  though  not  in 
the  hereafter."  And  she  retreated  into  the  house,  leaving 
Eeinout  very  much  troubled  in  mind. 

He  did  not  willingly  ask  favours  of  a  father  who  never 
conceded  anything  unless  it  was  not  a  favour ;  after  con- 
sultation with  the  Chevalier,  he  broached  the  subject  to 
Margherita.  To  his  surprise  the  countess  immediately  sat 
up,  said,  "  Quite  right.  I  understand,"  and  went  in  to  her 
husband ;  but  that  gentleman,  immersed  in  his  buttery- 
books,  and  annoyed  by  the  interruption,  contented  himself 
with  answering  :  "  The  question,  like  the  people,  is  buried. 
"What  is  buried  had  best  lie  still."  Margherita  came  out 
to  her  son  in  the  hall :  "  He  won't,"  she  said  with  flashing 
eyes.  "  And  yet  the  whole  place  is  mine."  She  went  back 
to  her  occupation,  which  was  teasing  Florizel. 

Eeinout  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  returned  to  his 
books.  He  had  favourite  authors  nowadays,  and  they  were 
fast  molding  his  opinions :  Byron,  Shelley,  De  Lamartine, 
the  aristocrat  singers  of  freedom,  and  that  incomparable 
Seer  who  had  first  flashed  the  light  o'er  his  path.  Of  the 
"  Eevolt  of  Islam,"  for  instance,  he  could  reel  off  whole  pas- 
sages, though  never  quite  clear  as  to  who  revolted  or  against 
what.  He  had  not  spoken  to  "W'endela  again ;  sometimes, 
when  happening  to  awake  at  night,  he  would  erroneously 
imagine  her  standing  alone  by  the  chancel  window — as  if 
Weudela  ever  broke  promises,  good  or  bad.     But  as  a  rule, 


THE   DAWN   PROVES  CLOUDY.  313 

he  slept  excellently  well,  and  awoke  in  the  morning,  from  a 
dreamless  slumber,  to  dream. 

"  My  dear  Count,"  said  M.  de  Souza  one  day,  the  qniet 
old  gentleman  who  did  nothing  but  dance  attendance  on 
the  Countess  and  complain  of  the  weather.  "  Things  are 
going  wrong  with  Rene.  He  is  nearly  nineteen,  and  he 
reads  in  the  woods.  Your  system  was  wise,  but  you  are 
prolonging  it — excuse  me — unwisely.     He  is  farouche." 

The  Count  tapped  the  ground  nervously  with  his  foot. 
"  The  other  man  says  he  is  doing  excellently,"  he  replied, 
"  and  hopes  to  get  him  ready  for  his  diplomatic  examina- 
tion in  eighteen  months  more."  The  '\other  man "  was 
one  of  those  silent  haters  of  the  rich  who  fawn  upon  them. 
A  republican  himself,  he  tried  imperceptibly  to  influence 
his  pupil.     The  pupil  distrusted  him. 

Count  Rexelaer,  while  rejecting  advice,  set  himself 
quietly  to  watch  his  son.  And  these  observations  soon 
culminated  abruptly  in  the  question :  "  Why  do  you  never 
go  and  see  so-and-so,  Reiuout  ?  And  so-and-so?  Or  what's- 
his-name  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bother  what's-his-name  ! "  said  Rene. 

"  Still,  it  seems  to  me,  that,  as  young  men  of  your  own 
rank — " 

"  I  hate  young  men  of  my  own  rank." 

The  following  academical  year  found  Reinout  at  Ley- 
den.  A  Dutch  university  is  not  a  nice  place.  To  enjoy  its 
life  you  must  be  both  exceedingly  childish  and  exceedingly 
dissolute.  The  pupil  of  M.  de  Souza  found  himself  utterly 
at  sea,  and  retired  into  his  shell,  which  he  beautified  by  all 
the  means  in  his  power.  To  say  that  at  this  period  he  re- 
sembled his  hero  Shelley  would  be  to  create  an  erroneous 
impression,  yet,  with  his  far  greater  (hearsay)  knowledge  of 
"society,"  he  had  much  of  that  poet's  splendidly  ignorant 
scorn  of  the  conventionalities  which  galled  him.  He  was 
full  of  a  passive  yearning  for  the  Millennium,  the  Apotheo- 


314  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

sis  of  the  Human  by  itself  which  Victor  Hugo  believes  to 
be  an  approaching  fact.  lie  had  no  clear  notion  how  the 
thing  was  to  be  started,  bnt,  meanwhile,  he  bought  statuettes 
and  engravings,  and  studied  a  little  art,  and  disliked  dirt 
and  beggars  (always  giving  to  the  latter),  and  loved  the 
poor.  The  young  men  at  the  University  did  not  share  his 
horror  of  dirt  (some  kinds),  and  they  loved  the  poor  in  a 
less  platonic  manner  than  he.  They  said  he  was  queer. 
That  was  the  greatest  of  sins  in  their  eyes,  for  they  were  all 
exactly  alike. 


CHAPTER   XLIV. 

THE   IKOX    HAND. 

"  I  SHOULD  like  to  speak  to  you  a  moment,  Father,  if 
you  please,"  said  Reinout  one  memorable  autumn  evening, 
as  the  family  rose  from  table.  He  was  now  twenty-two, 
and  had  spent  four  lazy,  luxurious  years  at  Leyden.  He 
was  handsome  and  well  dressed,  and  outwardly  pleasingly 
proper. 

"  Certainly,  my  boy,"  responded  Count  Rexelaer,  gra- 
ciously. "  Come  and  have  a  cigar."  Inwardly  he  said : 
"Debts?"  Few  fathers  of  undergraduates  would  have  re- 
quired the  interrogation. 

Reinout  placed  himself  leisurely  in  front  of  the  mantel- 
piece, and  deliberately  lighted  his  pipe.  He  had  come  down 
unexpectedly  to  Deynum. 

"I  took  my  degree  to-day,"  he  said, -quietly  pressing 
down  the  burning  tobacco  with  his  fusee. 

"  What  ?  "  cried  the  Count,  in  a  tone  of  genuine  indig- 
nation. "  And  how  about  your  farewell  banquet  ?  Reinout, 
you  are  joking." 

Inviolable  custom  requires  that  the  Dutch  student  shall 
leave  the  University  in  a  blaze  of  prescriptive  festivity. 
In  justice  to  Reinout  it  must  be  added  that  the  whole  thing, 
like  all  Dutch  student-festivals  except "  Masquerade,"  means 
merely :  drink. 

"There  wasn't  any  farewell  party,"  replied  the  young 
man.  "  I'm  not  going  to  have  one.  I  think  it's  a 
bore." 


316  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

Then  he  took  his  eyes  off  his  pipe  aud  looked  anxiously 
across  at  his  father. 

Count  Rexelaer  did  not  return  the  look.  He  sat  gazing 
moodily  into  the  fire ;  the  autumn  night  was  chilly.  At 
length  he  said,  in  quite  a  sad  voice,  "  I  was  poor,  and  I  had 
eleven  four-in-hands."  * 

A  moment  afterwards  he  added  :  "  You  must  have  gone 
to  a  lot  of  other  men's  parties,  and  it  seems  very  shabby  to 
make  no  return.  Perhaps  the  matter  doesn't  strike  you  in 
that  light?     I'm  sure  I  don't  know  how  it  strikes  you." 

"  On  that  score  you  may  make  yourself  easy,"  replied  his 
son.  "  1  never  went  to  anybody's  jDarties.  I  joined  some  of 
the  better  societies,  of  course,  but  when  I  discovered  the  men 
were  always  getting  drunk,  I  stopped  away.  Besides,  I'm 
the  first  of  my  year  to  leave." 

"  You  must  have  done  nothing  but  work ! "  cried  the 
Couut. 

"  No,  indeed  ;  or  I  should  have  gone  a  year  sooner." 

"  I  rejoice  that  I  have  so  clever  a  son."  Count  Hilarius 
rose  and  walked  to  the  door.  "  You  must  have  understood, 
Reinout,"  he  said,  with  one  of  his  irritable  glances,  "  that  I 
did  not  send  you  to  the  University  to  rush  through  it. 
Your  news  has  taken  me  disagreeably  by  surprise.  You 
must  allow  me  a  little  time  to  digest  it." 

"  I  have  no  debts,"  began  Eeinout. 

"  I  wish  you  had,"  said  his  father,  bitterly,  and  closed 
the  door. 

Reinout  remained  standing,  a  meditative,  graceful,  re- 
gretful figure,  with  drooping  pipe.  He  had  expected  some 
pleasure  from  the  announcement  of  his  sudden  and  success- 
ful termination  of  a  career  he  had  loathed  from  the  first. 
"  The  Chevalier  and  Victor  Hugo,"  he  was  wont  to  aver, 
"  surely  that  is  enough  education  for  any  man.  The  Chev- 
alier for  the  fictions  and  Hugo  for  the  realities."     He  was 


*  Dutch  University  custom. 


THE  IRON  HAND.  317 

shocked  by  the  sincerity  of  the  Count's  disappointment. 
Unfortunately,  he  could  never  understand  how  clear,  to  the 
man  himself,  were  the  Court  Comtproller's  lights. 

"  Ah  well !  "  he  said,  listlessly,  and  opened  the  door  be- 
cause the  room  was  so  hot.  Then  he  took  up  a  number  of 
the  Bibliothuque  Universelle ;  the  smoking-room  table  was 
covered  with  reviews — his  doing ;  "  As  long  as  you  leave  me 
my  Figaro,"  his  father  had  said. 

Laissa's  voice  sounded  across  the  vestibule,  singing  softly 
to  her  mistress : 

"  0  rose,  o  fleur,  6  jeune  fiUe ! " 

With  an  exclamation  of  impatience,  the  son  of  the  house 
crossed  over  to  the  door  again  and  shut  it. 

Next  morning  the  Count  did  not  put  in  an  appearance, 
but  M.  de  Souza  dawdled  over  his  coffee  cup,  with  hands  as 
transparent  as  the  porcelain,  humming  and  hawing  and 
gently  coughing  as  he  sopped  his  roll.  Margherita  always 
breakfasted  in  her  room.  "  I  can  take  nothing  before  noon," 
she  protested,  "  but  chocolate."  So  she  had  a  big  bowl  of 
that,  with  an  abundance  of  cream  and  half  a  dozen  French 
almond  cakes. 

For  a  long  time  the  Chevalier  said  nothing.  He  was  too 
perfect  a  gentleman  to  "  make  conversation,"  unless  it  was 
wanted.  Besides,  he  was  growing  old,  and  the  difficulty  of 
disguising  this  fact  at  table  sufficiently  engrossed  him.  At 
length  he  began  flicking  a  crumb  or  two  from  his  sleeve. 

"  Your  father  has  told  me,  Rene,"  he  said,  gently.  "  Of 
course  he  is  grieved ;  so  am  I.  You  disappoint  all  our 
hopes.     They  were  many." 

Reinout  listened  humbly.  He  might  despise  the  old 
nobleman's  teachings ;  the  teacher  he  could  never  otherwise 
than  love. 

"  That,  perhaps,  might  appear  of  but  little  account  to 
you — " 

"N"o,  indeed,"  interrupted  Reinout,  eagerly. 


318  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

The  Chevalier  waved  his  hand.  "  So  I  willingly  believe. 
Disregard  of  the  feelings  of  others,  that  most  vulgar  of 
faults,  has  never  been  yours.  But  I  was  desirous  to  add : 
You  disappoint  your  own  hopes  as  well.  Your  father  says 
he  does  not  know  ichat  you  want.  Nor  do  I.  But  of  one 
thing  I  am  sure ;  you  want  to  be  a  good  man,  and  a  great. 
Good,  certainly ;  great,  probably.     Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"I  am  much  obliged  for  your  kind  opinion  of  me," 
murmured  Eeinout. 

"  Xot  a  bit.  We  know  each  other,  we  two.  Well,  you 
insist  upon  going  your  own  way  to  your  object.  You  re- 
fuse all  advice  ;  you  reject  all  precedent ;  you  are  eccentric, 
neio.  It  is  an  immense  responsibility.  If  you  fail,  it  is 
you,  personally,  that  bear  the  blame.  Most  men  prefer  that 
their  faults  should  be  those  of  the  system  they  live  in. 
And  there  is  every  chance  of  your  failing.  Whatever  may 
be  permissible  at  the  end  of  a  great  career,  nothing,  at  the 
beginning,  is  so  fatal  as  eocentricity." 

Eeinout  sat  chijDping  a  crust  on  his  plate,  with  a  vigour 
which  scattered  the  crumbs. 

"  And,  my  dear  boy  " — the  Chevalier  bent  forward, 
kindly  confidential — "  I  think  you  have  hardly  realized 
how  great  that  career  is  likely  to  be.  You  are  placed,  by 
an  Almighty  Providence,  on  a  summit,  destined  to  influ- 
ence the  history  of  your  country,  and  benefit  your  com- 
patriots. You  turn  and,  in  quest  of  the  sunlight  above 
you,  you  deliberately  walk  down  hill.  Once  more,  the  re- 
sponsibility you  assume  single-handed  is  immense." 

"  My  God ! "  cried  the  pupil,  with  suddenly  uplifted 
eyes.  "  I  assume  no  responsibility  !  I  only  want  to  leave 
off  being  a  gilded  gentleman  and  to  become  a  manly  man 
at  last." 

M.  de  Souza  paused  in  the  act  of  rising,  his  keen  eye 
filling  with  affection.  "  Be  thankful,"  he  said,  "  that  your 
chains  are  gilded.  We  all  have  to  wear  them.  I  had  not 
half  your  chances,  Rene.     I  threw  them  away.     And  I  am 


THE  IRON  HAND.  319 

— here."  He  wheezed  a  little — liis  asthma  was  very  bad  of 
late — and  then  tottered,  with  his  failing  dance-step,  from 
the  room. 

Eeinout  remained  alone,  twisting  the  seal-ring  upon  his 
little  finger.     "  The  velvet  glove,"  he  muttered. 

A  few  minutes  later  he  met  his  father  in  the  hall.  The 
Count  held  a  newspaper  in  his  hand. 

"  It  is  true,  then,"  said  the  Count,  and  pointed  to  the 
paper.  "  Do  you  know,  Eeinout,  to  the  last  I  half  hoped 
you  were  joking." 

"  I  should  not  have  ventured." 

"  The  reality  is  worse  than  the  joke  could  have  been. 
And  your  academic  dissertation  ?  Am  I  to  be  permitted  to 
see  that  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  copy  for  you  in  my  portmanteau,"  rejDlied 
Reinout.  He  had  meant  to  give  it  to  his  father  the  night 
before.  "  Hang  it  all ! "  he  thought,  "  I  ought  to  have  let 
him  have  the  thing  before  he  asked  for  it."  "  Father,"  he 
continued  aloud,  "  I  am  sorry  to  have  vexed  you.  I — I 
daresay  I  am  a  bit  of  a  fool  at  times.  I  will  do  whatever 
you  desire." 

"  My  good  child  !  "  cried  Hilarius,  jerking  round  at  the 
foot  of  the  great  staircase,  among  the  oleanders,  and  facing 
his  stalwart  son,  "  you  talk  as  if  /  were  your  enemy !  I 
desire  nothing  but  that,  while  you  are  preparing  for  your 
appointment  as  '  attache,'  you  '  go  out,'  this  winter,  like 
other  young  men !  And,  look  here,  Eene,  I'll  give  you  a 
phaeton  and  pair  of  your  own." 

Eeinout  clasped  his  father's  proffered  hand  and  wrung 
it  silently.     And  his  heart  was  soft  with  love  and  shame. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 
couxT  rexelaek's  troubles. 

CouxT  Eexelaer  was,  at  heart,  a  melancholy  man. 
But  he  was  also  constitutionally  a  grumbler,  whose  ever- 
anxious  ambition  no  good  fortune  could  appease.  And  to 
his  honour  be  it  said  that  he  confined  all  his  grumbling  to 
his  family-circle,  while  heroically  smiling  all  day  at 
Court. 

And  every  man  has  his  troubles ;  at  least,  so  every  man 
says.  At  Court  the  Count's  sun  was  still  in  the  ascendant, 
but  at  Deynum  it  had  never  fought  its  way  out  of  the 
clouds.  Truth  to  tell.  Count  Hilarius  was  not  born  to 
country-squiredom.  His  neighbours  laughed  when  he  stuck 
in  the  mud  with  his  varnished  boots,  and  shot  a  setter.  He 
bullied  his  farmers  in  the  wrong  way,  and  patronized  indis- 
creetly, and  whatever  he  did  "  different "  was  writ  down  to 
the  good  of  his  predecessor.  A  vacancy  having  occurred 
in  the  States  Provincial,  the  Count  and  the  Baron  were 
pitted  against  each  other,  much  to  the  latter's  initial  dis- 
may. And  the  Lord  of  the  Manor  actually  found  himself 
beaten  by  eight  votes,  chiefly  through  Baron  Borck's  re- 
maining neutral  at  the  eleventh  hour.  "  It  is  not  a  Parlia- 
ment-election ;  let  the  poor  old  man  have  this  small  com- 
pensation," the  Baron  of  Rollingen  had  obstinately  re- 
plied to  all  his  wife's  appeals.  She  did  not  argue  with 
him.  She  had  tried  that  during  the  first  year  of  their 
marriage. 

The  defeated  Candidate,  in  his  fury,  talked  of  shutting 


COUNT  REXELAER'S  TROUBLES.       321 

up  the  Castle,  to  avoid  contact  with  his  rival.  And  this 
imfortunate  election  only  accentuated  the  religious  squab- 
ble which  had  so  long  agitated  the  village  ;  trust  an  election 
in  Holland  to  do  that.  The  Protestant  minister,  Count 
Eexelaer's  protege,  who  had  zealously  visited  the  voters, 
found  but  one  word  of  counsel  for  his  patron  in  defeat. 
"  You  must  strengthen  the  Protestant  element,"  he  said. 
Count  Rexelaer  reflected  that  eight  votes  are  not  much. 
He  did  all  in  his  power  to  strengthen  the  Protestant  ele- 
ment. Father  Bulbius  wept  tears  of  indignation,  and  then 
he  girded  on  his  sword.  Meanwhile  the.  tragi-comedy  of 
birth  and  death  played  through  its  little  scenes  beneath  the 
shadow  of  the  cross. 

The  Countess  Margherita  also  commenced,  about  this 
time,  to  cause  her  noble  consort — "  0  Hilaire  !  0  mon 
roy  " — some  considerable  anxiety.  As  she  grew  older  and 
her  charms  began  to  wane — she  was  not  yet  forty  and  still 
sufficiently  handsome — her  extravagances  deei^ened  beyond 
the  bounds  of  risibility,  and  a  coquetry  revealed  itself  of 
which  her  younger  beauty  had  perhaps  not  felt  the  need. 
From  indifference  concerning  society  she  had  passed  to 
fondness  for  it,  and  from  fondness  to  an  incessant  craving 
after  gaiety.  "  I  must  make  the  most  of  my  sunset,"  said 
the  passionate  Creole,  who  borrowed  her  metaphors  from 
the  god  she  adored.  She  laced  tightly  of  evenings,  after 
the  morning's  sweets  and  sofas,  and  she  powdered  her  yel- 
lowing complexion  while  mercilessly  displaying  it.  The 
"  abandon  "  of  her  manners  was  charming,  so  delightfully 
un-Dutch.  "  Oh,  yes,  she  is  a  La  Jolais,  but — well,  her 
mother  died  early.  She  was  educated  out  in  South  America 
where  her  father  was  Ambassador." 

Tlie  Rexelaers  van  Altena  had  not,  on  their  part,  pleased 
the  Head  of  the  House  as  much  as  wise  Duty  required  of 
them.  Jane  had  had  any  number  of  children  and  was 
obliged  to  rent  a  large  house  in  a  bad  part  of  the  town. 
Her  rich  father-in-law,  who  had  suircrecl,  at  the  time  of  the 


322  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

engagement,  from  a  cough  warranted  to  kill  in  a  year,  was 
now  coughing  his  way  up  into  the  eighties.  He  was  hor- 
ribly stingy  and  had  behaved  outrageously  to  his  son,  whose 
allowance  he  diminished  jDroi^ortionately  at  the  birth  of 
every  child. 

Then,  Rolline  had  married  a  poor  Jonker  for  love. 
"  You  ! "  her  grandmother  had  snapped  at  her,  "  who  are 
so  fond  of  nice  things  ! "  "I  think  being  in  love  is  a  very 
nice  thing,"  Eolline  had  answered,  undaunted.  "  I  saw 
Jane's  marriage  work  round."  Her  mother  had  resisted  her 
as  long  as  was  i^racticable.  The  worst  of  it  was,  they  had 
to  forgive  her  afterwards;  her  husband  was  so  very  well 
connected. 

Antoinette  was  still  at  home ;  she  had  grown  up  jjretty, 
if  a  little  pert  in  expression.  She  was  to  capture  her  cousin 
Reinout. 

Guy  also  was  to  capture  a  cousin.  His  mother  had  long 
ago  explained  to  him  that  he  must  marry  Cecile  Borck's 
sixty  thousand  pounds ;  he  was  weary  of  hearing  her  ex- 
plain. PerhajDS,  although  nearly  thirty,  he  was  bent  upon 
previously  increasing  his  debts,  his  "  persuaders,"  as  he 
openly  called  them.  "  My  dear  mother,"  he  said,  "  I  am 
not  yet  sufficiently  persuaded."  Mevrouw  Eexelaer  did  not 
comprehend. 

As  for  George,  "  He  is  the  stupid  one,"  said  the  Dowager. 
"  It's  the  stupid  ones  that  most  surely  look  after  their  own. 
Some  day,  with  that  quiet  way  of  his,  George  will  make,  or 
take  a  fortune." 

"  Meanwhile,"  protested  the  placid  Judge,  "  let  Hilarius 
go  driving  in  his  carriages,  and  leave  us  to  our  cabs.  I  am 
sure  we  are  comfortable  enough."  In  which  view  the 
whole  family,  though  eager  for  the  carriages,  concurred, 
excepting  Jane,  who  was  soured  by  her  irrationally  un- 
fortunate circumstances.  "  I  should  not  have  minded  a 
reasonable  contretemps,"  said  Jane.  "  And  what  do  you  call 
a  reasonable  contretemps?"   queried  her  husband,  who  was 


COUNT  REXELAER'S  TROUBLES.       323 

somewhat  afraid  of  her.  "Your  father's  living  to  be 
seventy,  not  eighty,"  replied  plain-spoken  Jane.  So  clearly 
had  this  couple  got  to  understand  one  another. 

As  soon  as  the  great  people  remained  away  from  the 
village,  the  village  began  to  miss  them,  and  one  half  of  it 
railed  at  the  other  half.  Therefore,  when  they  returned 
after  eighteen  months'  absence,  Joost  Hakkert  was  hot  to 
propose  floral  arclies  of  welcome,  which  the  Baron's  faction 
as  vehemently  denounced.  None  regretted  these  dissensions 
as  much  as  that  gentleman  himself.  His  bitterness  had 
melted  away  from  him,  notably  after  his  election  to  the 
States. 

"  My  good  Thys,"  he  said  one  day  to  that  prosperous 
liusband  and  father,  whom  he  met  on  returning  from  what 
had  now  become  his  daily  walk  in  the  park,  "  you  are  acting 
ungraciously  and  unwisely.  I  tell  you  so  frankly,  for  I 
know  you  mean  well.  And  what  you  are  doing  is  7iot  done 
on  my  behalf."  Thys  scowled.  We  do  not  like  Herod,  of 
all  men,  to  bring  under  our  notice  the  fact  that  we  are  busy 
out-Heroding  him. 

But  the  Baron,  having  eased  his  conscience,  continued 
his  way  content.  He  found  Bulbius  and  the  Baroness  com- 
fortably engaged  in  alternate  monologue  of  reminiscence, 
Wendela  bravely  enduring  the  talk  about  Deynum.  The 
Baron's  entrance  stopped  it. 

The  Baroness  Gertrude  was  aging  rapidly.  She  had 
always  been  in  advance  of  her  years,  and  the  last  decade 
might  surely  count  for  two.  She  would  look  for  her  words, 
till  her  daughter  tapped  the  floor  with  impatient,  self-re- 
proachful foot. 

"  I  disapprove  of  all  opposition  to  constituted  authori- 
ties," said  the  Baron,  walking  into  the  room.  "  I  wish 
these  good  people  would  listen  to  me.  We  ought  to  have 
no  point  of  contact  with  the  Castle.     As  it  cannot  be  love, 

it  should  never  be  hate." 
22 


324  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

"Wendela  looked  up  quickly.  "  "Why  not  a  little  hate  ?  " 
rose  to  her  lips,  but  she  was  grown  up  now  and  sometimes 
suppressed  her  rashest  thoughts. 

"  You  are  too  charitable,  Mynheer,"  burst  forth  Father 
Bulbius.  "  As  for  me,  I  have  no  patience  with  persecutors. 
For  I  call  it  persecution  to  compel  this  poor  lady,  in  her 
infirmity,  to  drag  all  the  way  to  the  other  end  of  the 
village.'' 

"  Stay  to  dinner,"  said  the  Baron,  to  whom  this  subject 
was  especially  obnoxious.  "  I  will  tell  Gustave."  And  he 
rang  the  bell. 

"  Nonsense,  Father ;  you  speak  as  if  I  were  losing  the 
use  of  my  limbs,"  interposed  iMevrouw  van  Rexelaer  nerv- 
ously.    "  Like  Joost  Hakkert's  old  mother." 

"  Xo,  no,"  replied  the  priest  pettishly,  "  I  did  not  mean 
that.  By  the  by,  I  was  telling  Mevrouw,  when  your  AVor- 
ship  came  in,  that  I  had  been  to  see  Lise  of  the  Chalk-house 
Farm,  who  has  Just  had  twins." 

"  Tiens,  and  he  never  told  me  I  "  exclaimed  the  Baron, 
vexed  that  Thys  should  have  been  so  much  vexed. 

"Did  your  Reverence  kiss  the  babies?"  questioned 
Wendela. 

She  liked  to  provoke  Father  Bulbius,  having  retained 
her  aversion  to  priests.  "  It  all  comes,"  she  would  say,  "  of 
that  unconscionable  catechism." 

"  I  ?  Xo,"  cried  his  Reverence  in  alarm.  "  Besides, 
they  were  girls." 

"  But  then,  old  Vrouw  Hakkert  is  twenty  years  older 
than  I,"  continued  the  Baroness.  "  At  that  age  people  can- 
not complain,  if  their  strength  begins  to  give  way." 

The  Baron  went  over  to  her  chair  and  gently  stroked 
her  white  forehead.     "  You  are  still  young,"  he  said. 

When  Count  Rexelaer's  carriage,  shortly  after,  passed 
under  a  red-lettered  "  Welcome,"  he  was  not  particularly 
gratified  to  learn  from  his  steward  that  he  owed  its  erection 


COUNT  REXELAER'S  TROUBLES,       325 

to  the  Baron's  forbearance.  Besides,  "  unusual  demonstra- 
tions have  exceptional  causes,"  declared  the  ex-diplomat. 
He  felt  that  the  old  lord  was  much  in  his  way.  What 
would  he  have  said,  had  he  known  how  that  gentleman  was 
steadfastly  schooling  himself  to  play  the  role  of  a  humble 
petitioner  ?  Yet,  so  it  was.  For,  when  duties  became  plain 
to  the  simple-hearted  Baron,  he  did  them.  And  one  morn- 
ing the  White  Baroness  returned  from  her  daily  pilgrimage 
to  the  distant  parish-church,  leaning  heavily  on  Wendela's 
arm,  even  more  than  usually  exhausted. 

"  I  cannot,"  the  proud,  silent  woman  had  gasped  as  she 
tottered  to  her  bed-chamber.  Presently  W^endela  came 
back  to  the  sitting-room  where  her  father  was  tramping 
stolidly  to  and  fro.  Had  he  noticed?  she  wondered,  as  she 
seated  herself,  with  a  book,  in  the  window-seat.  She  had 
long  understood  that  her  mother's  ailment  was  some  sort  of 
rheumatic  or  chalky  gout,  a  gradual  stiifening  of  the  joints. 

"  This  must  end,"  exclaimed  the  Baron  without  check- 
ing his  walk.  He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  daughter's 
presence.  Five  minutes'  more  tramp  were  got  through,  be- 
fore he  spoke  again.  "  Fll  go  this  afternoon,"  he  said. 
"  There's  a  reason  for  it  now,"  He  walked  out  at  the  open 
door,  and  locked  himself  in  his  room. 

Left  alone,  Wendela  slipped  off  the  window-sill  and  out 
of  the  house.  She  hurried  up  the  lane,  and  into  the 
coppice  which  leads  to  Lady  Bertha's  oak. 

"  He  shall  not  so  humiliate  himself,"  she  repeated.  "  He 
shall  not  so  humiliate  himself."  She  passed  the  oak  with- 
out daring  to  look  at  it.  Here,  eight  years  ago,  she  had 
parted  from  Piet  Poster,  the  boy-sweetheart  whose  name 
still  hung  motionless  in  the  prayers  she  repeated  by  rote. 
Unlike  her  father,  she  had  never  beheld  the  oak,  nor  the 
house,  nor  the  gardens  since  that  day  wlien  she  had  bidden 
them  Good-bye.  How  long  ago  was  it,  that  she  had  crept 
up  the  avenue  to  catch  one  last  glimpse  of  "  Knight-Pil- 
grim "  ?    Five  years.     Often  she  had  wondered  if  Ileinout 


326  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

still  retained  the  dear  volume  she  had  given  him.  "  I  had 
done  better  to  keep  it,"  she  thought. 

"Was  it  fancy  that  told  her  she  remembered  each  stone  of 
the  building  as  soon  as  it  came  into  view  ?  She  sped  on- 
ward, with  beating  heart,  across  the  courtyard,  between 
the  orange-trees,  and  rang  the  loud  door-bell  with  a 
crash. 

"  You  must  be  mistaken  again.  I  wish  you  would  pay 
more  attention,"  said  the  ever-cautious  Count  Eexelaer  to 
the  servant  who  announced  her.  Then  he  went  into  the 
vestibule  and  found  himself  confronted  by  a  lithe,  hazel-eyed 
damsel  in  a  light  muslin  dress. 

"  I  am  the  Freule  van  Eexelaer,"  said  the  damsel  with  a 
quiver  in  her  earnest  voice.  "  No,  thank  you,  I  would  rather 
remain  here." 

"  And  what  can  I  do  for  you,  Freule  ?  " 

She  told  him. 

Count  Eexelaer  fretted  indignantly  under  his  efforts  at 
self-control.  He  believed  in  a  ruse  of  the  enemy  invented 
to  render  refusal  impossible.  "  Will  you  allow  me,"  he  de- 
manded, "  to  consider  the  matter  and  communicate  my 
reply  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Wendela  quickly.  "  I  mean,  I  hope  not.  I 
am  longing  to  surprise  them.  It  was  that  made  me 
come." 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  said  the  Count,  "  who  could  re- 
sist so  fair  a  petitioner  ?  " 

"You  consent  then,  Mynheer?"  cried  Wendela  with 
sparkling  eyes. 

"  If  your  father  really  wishes  it,  yes,"  he  replied  point- 
edly, and  then,  in  obedience  to  a  motion  of  her  hand,  he 
drew  back  the  glass  door. 

She  ran  all  the  way  home.  In  the  garden  she  met  the 
Baron.     "  I  have  been  to  Deynum,"  she  panted. 

"  To  Deynum  ?  "  Her  father  did  not  understand  what 
she  meant. 


COUNT  REXELAER'S  TROUBLES.        327 

"  I  have  been  calling  on  the  Count.  He  is  an  amiable 
gentleman,  too  amiable,  Papa." 

But  that  evening  came  a  letter  from  Count  Hilarius  van 
Rexelaer.  He  had  consented,  of  course,  where  refusal  had 
been  rendered  impossible,  and  if  the  Baron  was  really  con- 
tent to  extort  a  concession,  well,  Count  Rexelaer,  having 
once  passed  his  word,  must  admit  himself  bound. 

"  Oh,  but  this  is  infamous  !  "  cried  Wendela  with  burn- 
ing cheeks. 

"  My  dear,"  replied  the  Baron  mildly,  "  the  gentleman 
is  true  to  our  motto.  Perhaps  he  enjoys  disgrace.  Never 
mind ;  I  shall  accept." 

"  Oh,  you  dear,  dear  Father,"  she  said,  and  threw  both 
arms  round  his  neck. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

FOKEIGX    AFFAIRS    AND    OTHER    PEOPLE'S   BUSINESS. 

True  to  his  promise,  the  Jonker  Eeinout  returned  with 
his  parents  to  the  Hague.  And,  decked  out  with  ribands 
and  flowers — white  ties  and  gardenias — he  was  led,  like  a 
lamb,  to  the  slaughter. 

In  the  morning  hours  he  worked  resolutely  at  the  For- 
eign Office,  helping  to  wind  and  unwind  the  red  tape  with 
which  international  knots  are  tied  and  untied.  At  the  Uni- 
versity he  had  early  discovered  that  the  study  of  civil  law 
means  the  study  of  casuistry  to  avoid  it ;  these  pains  were 
superfluous,  diplomacy  soon  told  him,  with  regard  to  the 
professor's  elaborate  jus  gentium.  "  Let  the  professor  look 
after  the  law,"  said  the  Minister,  his  father's  friend.  Count 

L ,  "  and  we  will  take  care  of  the  profits."     Eeinout's 

virgin  acquaintance  with  statecraft  befell  in  those  days  when 
the  affluent  doctrine  of  "  might  is  right  "  was  leisurely  over- 
spreading the  sand-centred  tower  of  the  Holy  Alliance. 
The  ante- Alexandrian  teaching  that  right  is  one  thing  and 
a  good,  might  another  and  a  better,  was  dead  past  revival ; 
Bismarckian  effrontery  had  not  yet  persuaded  a  hyper-civil- 
ised, hyper-covetous  community  that  a  man  may  serve  God 
well  by  serving  his  neighbour  right.  Europe  was  waiting 
for  a  compromise  between  her  popularised  politics  and  her 
increasing  morality,  and  meanwhile  "  the  two  have  nothing 
in  common  "  was  the  catchword  with  which  she  strove  to 
content  herself.  "  Oh  my  God,  help  me  to  understand  ! " 
prayed  Reiuout  van  Rexelaer. 


FOREIGN  AFFAIRS.  329 

In  tlie  afternoon  and  evening,  and  night-time,  when  the 
slow  hours  tolled  for  making  merry,  he  dragged  about  from 
place  to  place  after  either  parent,  or  more  rarely  after  both. 
The  Countess  was  now  become  an  indefatigable  pleasure- 
liunter,  gobbling  gaiety  like  a  lap-dog  which  foresees  the 
withdrawal  of  its  mess,  "Rene,  mon  petit,  es-tu  pret?" — 
night  after  night  he  would  see  his  mother  standing  in  the 
doorway,  with  fan  or  opera-glass,  and  he  would  lay  down  his 
book  and  follow  her. 

Of  course  he  knew  everyone,  willy-nilly.  His  father  had 
secured  his  election  to  those  clubs  from  which  nobody  is 
excluded,  as  well  as  those  clubs  to  which  nobody,  unless  not 
a  nobody,  gains  admittance.  This  latter  emprise  had  called 
for  a  little  manoeuvring.  There  were  plenty  of  young  men 
who  remembered  that  Rexelaei*,  at  College,  had  deemed 
himself  too  good  to  get  drunk.  But  people  fought  shy  of 
offending  the  Count,  high  at  Court  and  soon  destined  to  be 
higher. 

With  the  ladies  of  the  Eesidency,  as  the  Dutch  call  the 
Hague,  Reinout  was  far  more  successful,  and  also  more  at 
his  ease.  In  the  first  place,  women  openly  loved  him  for 
one  of  the  chief  causes  of  masculine  dislike :  he  was  by  far 
the  best  "  parti "  in  society.  He  might  have  been  endowed 
with  round  shoulders,  or  even  with  a  wooden  leg.  As  for  a 
wooden  head,  that  "  goes  without  saying."  And  yet  he  was 
as  good-looking  and  generous-hearted  as  if  these  things  had 
been  worth  his  while.  Besides,  while  he  had  long  since 
abandoned  the  graceful,  obsolete  forms  which  the  Chevalier 
had  taught  him,  he  had  unconsciously  preserved  much  of 
the  manner  of  that  gentleman's  courtlier  day.  He  could 
still  think,  and  even  speak,  of  a  woman  with  reverence. 

In  many  ways,  otherwise,  his  education  had  been  a  gigan- 
tic failure.  He  had  fingered  the  gilt  clay-ball  his  father  had 
laid  in  his  boyish  palm  till  all  the  gilding  came  off.  That 
was  not  what  the  Count,  himself  so  successfully  worldly, 
had  bargained  for.     He  had  wished  his  son  to  despise  men, 


330  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

that  he  might  freel}'  employ  them  as  means  to  an  end. 
He  had  not  expected  him  to  despise  the  cud  as  well  as  the 
means. 

Meanwhile  the  young  man  rode  round  in  the  whirligig 
of  pleasure,  aud  got  his  fair  share  of  enjoyment  out  of  it. 
He  was  by  no  means  above  dancing  and  flirting,  or  racing 
and  riding.  But  at  bed-time  especially,  like  Titus,  he  would 
feel  that  he  had  lost  a  day.  "  I  have  never  done  anything 
for  anybody.  I  am  twenty-three,  and  if  I  were  to  die  before 
sunrise,  my  life  would  have  been  a  blank ! "  It  would 
always  remain  so.  There  is  no  more  futile  occupation  con- 
ceivable on  earth  than  the  diplomatic  representation  of  a 
state  with  no  international  influence.  But  it  could  not  be 
helped.     For  there  is  also  no  prison  like  "  position." 

One  morning  the  young  aspirant-ambassador,  upon 
reaching  the  Office,  was  struck  by  a  look  of  unusual  red- 
ness about  the  eyes  of  the  old  door-keeper  there.  The  dis- 
covery startled  him :  he  did  not  remember  having  ever  seen 
the  symptoms  of  sorrow  on  the  face  of  a  grown-up  man. 
He  would  have  spoken;  but  the  sacredness  of  sorrow  sealed 
his  lips. 

He  spent  the  morning  in  hard  work.  They  had  put 
him  into  the  passport-department,  and  there,  amid  the 
muddle  of  international  births,  marriages  and  deaths,  he 
might  watch  the  woof  of  History.  A  delightful  squabble 
had  recently  arisen  like  a  ripple  upon  stagnancy,  because  a 
tourist's  auburn  locks  had  been  written  down  red.  The 
gentleman  was  exceedingly  abusive,  from  the  safe  side  of 
the  frontier,  and  actually  offered  personal  violence  to  his 
Excellency.  Whereupon  Reinout  most  humbly  submitted 
his  willingness  to  go  out  to  Italy  as  proxy.  His  Excellency 
frowned.  He  had  two  frowns  at  his  service :  a  shrewdly 
puzzled  one  and  a  solemnly  determined.  The  two  had  made 
him  minister. 

By  noon  the  usher's  eyes  had  lost  their  border,  but  it 


FOREIGN  AFFAIRS.  331 

was  lie  who  broached  his  trouble,  as  he  swung  back  the 
door. 

"  This'll  be  the  last  day,  Jouker,"  he  said. 

"  How  so  ?  "  questioned  Reinout  in  surprise. 

Then  the  man  told  him.  An  order  misunderstood ;  a 
door  left  unlocked  with  important  papers  behind  it;  the 
l)eace  of  the  nation  in  danger ;  more  than  twenty  years' 
service  and  dismissal  at  the  end. 

"  It's  a  great  pity  you  did  it,"  said  Eeinout  severely. 
"  I  suppose  there's  no  hope  ?  " 

The  man  shook  his  white  head  pathetically.  "Ah,  if 
you  only  knew,"  he  said,  "  I  misunderstood  the  order, 
Jonker,  because  I  was  intended  to  misunderstand.  There, 
there ;  it's  no  use  talking." 

Nothing  more  could  be  extracted  from  him.  He  mut- 
tered something  about  "a  candidate  before  there  was  a 
vacancy"  and  "a  man's  servants  are  nearer  to  his  hand 
than  the  state's."  The  Jonker  turned  helplessly  away.  He 
felt  himself  again  in  the  jjresence  of  one  of  those  immense 
little  abuses  which  seem  to  be  society's  daily  bread.  He 
was  fast  learning  to  believe  that  all  human  flocks  are  tended 
by  wolves  in  shepherd's  clothing.  No  need  any  longer  to 
speculate  what  the  lean  wretch  had  meant  with  whom  he 
had  parleyed  as  a  lad.  "  A  thousand  poor  men's  tortures 
go  to  make  a  single  rich  man's  comfort."  What  can  one 
do?  Solve  the  riddle?  Are  not  all  the  world's  best  and 
wisest,  at  this  moment,  floundering  in  the  marshes  of  solu- 
tion, lured  by  every  Jack  o'  Lantern  that  shines  bright  ? 

"  I  shall  tell  my  father  about  this,"  reflected  Ileinout. 
His  father  was  to  him  an  upright  pillar  of  power.  Not  a 
lamp-post  of  futurity,  but  an  Atlas  that  bore  the  existent 
world.  According  to  a  father's  fallible  lights,  the  Count 
could  be  trusted  to  do  present-day  right.  Keinout  believed 
in  his  father. 

There  was  to  be  a  small  dinner-party  at  home  that  even- 
ing in  honour  of  Margherita's  birthday.    A  family  party, 


332  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

the  Rexelaers  van  Altena,  and  a  couple  of  intimates,  sixteen 
in  all.  Count  Eexelaer  had  frowned  over  one  name.  "  It 
is  absurd,"  he  had  said,  "  to  ask  that  man  on  such  an 
occasion  as  tliis."  Margherita  had  laughed  in  his  face. 
But  an  hour  or  two  later  she  had  invited  her  husband  into 
her  menagerie.  "  Mon  cher,"  she  had  commenced,  "  I 
should  like  to  recount  you  a  little  anecdote." 

"  Well  ? "  said  Hilarius,  nervously  snatching  at  Ama- 
rinda's  tail. 

"  Don't  hurt  more  creatures  than  you  can  help.  You 
remember,  Hilarius,  how  desperately  melancholy  I  was  when 
you  first  brought  me  to  your  land  of  everlasting  twilight. 
You  knew  at  the  time ;  but  I  don't  think  it  ever  interfered 
with  your  digestion.  Well,  one  evening  I  had  been  crying 
and  said  something  to  Laissa  about  feeling  I  was  going  to 
die.  The  poor  foolish  creature,  in  extravagant  anguish, 
appealed  to  the  Chevalier,  and  the  Chevalier  came  and 
mingled  his  tears  with  mine  and  confessed  that  he  too  was 
dying  for  want  of  a  ray  of  sunshine.  You  need  not  scowl ; 
he  is  a  better  man  than  you.  You,  by  the  by,  were  in  Am- 
sterdam '  on  business.'  I  have  noticed  that  your  business 
more  commonly  calls  you  to  Brussels  now.  I  was  desperate 
with  home-sickness ;  I  resolved  to  start  by  the  night-train 
and  take  ship  at  Havre ;  I  promised  the  Chevalier  to  let 
him  accompany  me.  Everything  was  arranged,  and  when 
the  time  came,  I  woke  the  boy.  He  looked  up  at  me,  drunk 
with  early  sleep.  'Are  we  going  to  Papa?'  he  asked. 
Suddenly  I  seemed  to  realize  " — the  Countess's  harsh  voice 
faltered — "  the  disgrace  which,  innocent  though  I  was,  an 
esclandre  would  bring  upon  the  child.  I  sent  for  the 
Chevalier  and  told  him  he  must  go  alone.  I  still  see  him 
bend  over  my  hand.  '  An  old  sinner  can  live  where  an 
angel  can,'  he  said.  Ridiculous  logic,  was  it  not  ?  Besides, 
I  have  never  been  an  angel.  Far  from  it.  And  two  days 
later  you  returned  from  Amsterdam." 

"  I  do  not  understand "  began  the  Count,  hurriedly. 


FOREIGN  AFFAIRS.  333 

"  To-day  I  am  forty.  Somehow  we  have  drifted  astray 
from  our  only  child,  or  he  from  us.  But  a  woman  of  forty 
will  certainly  consider  the  position  of  her  son,  even  sooner 
than  a  woman  of  twenty.     Ay,  and  her  own." 

"  And  her  husband's !  "  cried  the  Count,  rising  as  if  to 
escajDe. 

"  And  her  husband's.  The  money  is  mine,  and  it  pays 
for  your  trips  to  Brussels." 

"Have  you  anything  else?"  asked  Hilarius  at  the  door.- 

"  Just  one  word.  You  will  have  the  grace,  I  feel  sure, 
not  to  refer  to  this  very  old  stoi-y  in  the  presence  of  the 
Chevalier." 

"  The  Chevalier  has  behaved  very  badly,"  exclaimed  Hi- 
larius.    "  I  thought  he  was  a  trusty  friend." 

"  He  behaved  like  a  true  cavalier  to  a  woman  in  distress. 
Nothing  more.  Understand  me,  Hilarius ;  this  matter  ends 
here.  And  also,  I  am  now  a  woman  of  forty.  I  have 
wasted  my  whole  life  in  your  horrible  country.  I  have 
shown  that  I,  like  yourself,  can  be  trusted  to  keep  up  ap- 
pearances. As  for  the  rest,  it  is  no  business  of  yours.  You 
will  allow  me,  if  you  please,  to  do  what  I  choose  with  the 
remnant  of  my  youth  and  my  happiness."  She  threw  her- 
self back  on  the  sofa  and  waved  both  her  hands  to  her 
birds.  The  whole  chorus  of  them  responded  to  the  signal, 
and  Count  Eexelaer  retired  from  the  scene  in  a  burst  of 
joyous  song. 


CHAPTER  XLVIL 

A   MYSTERIOUS   POET. 

A  COUPLE  of  hours  later  Marglierita,  in  amber  velvet, 
was  receiving  the  congratulations  of  her  husband's  kin. 
Eeinout  had  bought  her  a  brooch,  with  the  florins  ob- 
tained by  brief  betting  at  a  Club  ecarte-table.  Eolline 
stood  admiring  it  wistfully  under  one  of  the  huge  lace 
lamp-shades. 

Mevrouw  Elizabeth  Rexelaer  came  sailing  in  with  her 
judge  among  her  skirts.  When  Mevrouw  Elizabeth  entered 
a  room,  there  was  no  vacancy  in  it  during  the  first  few  mo- 
ments for  anyone  else ;  to-day,  by  the  time  she  had  settled 
down,  it  became  apparent  that  the  master  of  the  house  had 
slipped  in  after  her.  He  was  in  excellent  spirits.  "  I  have 
got  some  splendid  news  !  "  he  said. 

"  Splendid  for  us  ?  "  asked  Jane. 

"  Splendid  for  all,  my  dear,  in  so  far  as  we  all  hang  to- 
gether." 

"  Ah,  but  we  don't,"  murmured  Jane,  in  a  spiteful  aside 
to  her  brother  George.  "  Thank  Heaven,  we  are  not  yet  all 
dependent  on  Uncle  Hil. 

"  Oh,  shut  up,"  replied  handsome  George.  He  had  re- 
cently succeeded  in  extracting  a  loan  from  his  uncle,  to  the 
envious  admiration  of  the  rest.  The  latter  gentleman  was 
ofifering  his  arm  to  his  sister-in-law.  The  company  rustled 
into  pairs.  And  as  they  did  so,  the  fond  mother  pointed  to 
Eeinout  and  Antoinette  :  "  How  charming  they  look,"  she 
whispered.     "  Yes,  don't  they?"  responded  Count  Eexelaer 


A  MYSTERIOUS  POET.  335 

hastily.  The  heir-apparent  of  Deynum,  restricted  like 
Royalty,  must  choose  from  among  half  a  dozen  high-born 
maidens  that  humbly  awaited  his  pleasure.  He  might  be 
gracious  to  Topsy  meanwhile,  if  he  chose. 

Everybody  should  be  gracious  to  everybody.  Mevrouw 
Elizabeth  was  delighted  with  Hilarius's  expansive  complai- 
sance. "  It  is  that  low-born  Margaret  who  spoils  him," 
she  reflected.  "  And  now,  my  dear  brother,  tell  us  your 
news ! " 

Hilarius  was  eager  to  do  so.  A  silence  fell  upon  all  the 
nej^hews  and  nieces  as  he  told.  "  It  has  pleased  his  most 
gracious  Majesty  " — the  Courtier's  face  assumed  a  fold  of 
half  ironical  humility — "  to  confer  the  exalted  post  left  va- 
cant by  Count  Frank  de  Bercy's  death  upon  his  Majesty's 
faithful  servant — ?we.^" 

Of  course  there  was  an  outburst  of  perfunctory  con- 
gratulation. But  if  anybody  really  cared,  it  was  the  old 
Chevalier.  "  The  blessed  saints  be  with  him  ! "  mumbled 
that  perfumed  relic  in  his  immaculate  shirt-front.  And 
mentally  he  added,  "  If  blessed  saints  there  be." 

The  judge  rose  and  toasted  "  His  Excellency  ! "  and  the 
yellow-robed  Creole  beside  him  looked  up  with  a  vainglori- 
ous smile.  Yes,  it  was  nice.  They  all  felt  it  was  nice. 
"  Admit  that  it  is,"  said  Topsy,  turning  her  pretty,  plucky 
little  head  towards  her  neighbour.  "  Oh,  nice  enough,"  re- 
plied Reinout,  "  Pharaoh's  footman  promoted  to  the  place 
of  Pharoah's  butler  deceased."  But  the  girl  only  laughed 
at  him.  "  You  are  very  young,"  she  declared.  "  You  may 
always  say  those  things  to  me." 

In  the  smoking-room  Count  Rexelaer  had  to  listen  to 
the  lisped  congratulations  of  the  gentleman  whose  presence 
he  had  striven  to  prevent,  an  attache  at  the  French  Lega- 
tion, "  my  compatriot,"  averred  Marghcrita,  "  model  your- 
self, my  dear  child,  on  the  manners  of  Monsieur  de  Bonna- 
venture."  Reinout  had  slipped  away  from  an  endless  tale 
of  his  eldest  cousin's  gambling  losses  and  taken  refuge  with 


336  THE   caiEATER  GLORY. 

the  ladies,  two  of  whom  were  differing  politely  on  every 
subject  they  approached,  while  Jane  sat  buried  in  a  pile  of 
much  coveted  reviews  and  Rollins  lay  back  dreaming  of  her 
dear  little  peacli  of  a  baby,  all  sweet  and  soft  and  good 
to  eat.  It  was  a  relief  when  the  gentlemen  came  upstairs. 
Count  Rexelaer  with  a  bundle  of  newly-arrived  letters  in 
his  hand.  His  excellency  halted  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.  "  Marglierita,"  he  said,  while  avoiding  his  wife's 
eyes,  "  I  am  very  much  annoyed.  I  have  just  heard  from 
Dievert  that  the  people  I  so  unwisely  re-admitted  to  the 
chapel  have  kept  some  sort  of  religious  anniversary  there. 
A  Catholic  service,  in  fact." 

"  This  is  truly  shocking,"  said  Mevrouw  Elizabeth,  from 
among  the  perplexed  audience,  in  her  most  impressive 
tones. 

"  Oh,  I  daresay  they  only  celebrated  mass,"  interposed 
Margherita  lightly.  She  was  angry  about  the  reopening  of 
the  chapel,  because  it  had  been  refused  to  herself.  "  Do 
not  let  us  quarrel  about  religion,  pray." 

"  It  is  not  a  question  of  religion,  but  a  question  of  de- 
cency !  "  fumed  the  Count.  "  The  old  Barebones  does  noth- 
ing but  tease  me  with  his  tranquil  impertinence.  I  Avould 
give  a  good  sum,  could  I  drive  him  from  Deynum  !  " 

He  squeaked  out  the  words  in  his  irritation.  j\Iargherita 
caught  a  smile  of  careless  contempt  beneath  the  French 
diplomat's  waxed  moustache.  She  appealed  to  him  to  cre- 
ate a  diversion.  "  C'est  bete,"  she  said,  "  has  nobody  any- 
thing amusing?" 

Jane  wheeled  round  from  her  table.  "  Here  are  these 
verses,"  she  interposed,  "  that  people  are  talking  about,  in 
the  '  Revue  Parisienne.'  Have  you  seen  them.  Aunt  Mar- 
garet, you  who  are  such  a  lover  of  poetry  ?  " 

"  No.  Read  them  to  us,"  replied  Margherita,  glad  of 
any  escape. 

"  Oh,  poetry ! "  murmured  Guy,  and,  winking  at  Reinout, 
he  wandered  away  to  pause  vacantly  in  front  of  a  female 


A   MYSTERIOUS  POET.  337 

statuette.  Reinont  at  the  first  mention  of  the  review  and 
the  poem,  had  fallen  back  hastily  into  impenetrable  shade. 

The  poem  was  a  short  one  in  honour  of  an  incident 
much  discussed  at  the  time.  In  a  South  American  repub- 
lic— of  all  places ! — a  murderer's  execution  had  been  twice 
interrupted  by  the  breaking  of  the  rope  ;  whereupon  the 
mob  had  invaded  the  scaifold  and  rescued  the  criminal, 
actuated,  said  the  poet,  by  an  impulse  of  heaven-born  pity. 
"  Brotherly  sympathy,"  though  perhaps  a  shade  more  accu- 
rate, would  hardly  have  rhymed  so  well  with — the  senti- 
ments of  the  singer. 

Hitherto,  said  the  poet,  all  light  had  arisen  in  the  East, 
and  he  appealed  to  the  nations  of  Europe  to  be  foremost  in 
heralding  the  daybreak  of  mercy.  Else  would  its  morning 
be  not  sunlight  but  storm. 

"  Car  c'est  dans  roccident  que  rouragan  s'eleve 
Dont  la  grande  maree  effacera  la  Greve  ! " 

Jane  read  well,  and  therefore  enjoyed  reading  whether 
people  listened  or  not.  She  had  rung  out  the  last  lines  with 
real  spirit.  Why  did  Eeinout,  in  the  silence  which  followed, 
shrink  still  farther  back  ? 

"  It  ends  in  a  pun,"  said  the  diplomat.     "  That  is  bad." 

"  A  pun  !  No  ;  where  ? "  cried  Mevrouw  Elizabeth. 
Her  daughter  hastily  intervened.  "  The  whole  thing  is  mod- 
elled on  Victor  Hugo,"  she  said.  "  Capital  punishment  is 
his  hobby.  But  it  is  attracting  a  great  deal  of  notice,  and 
I  think  it  is  distinctly  good." 

"  It  isn't  poetry  at  all,"  complained  Margherita.  "  It  is 
merely  rhymed  talk  about  politics.  Poetry  deals  with  the 
nobler  affections." 

The  diplomatist  beside  her  bowed  low  over  her  fan. 
"  You  have  expressed  it  exactly,"  he  said. 

"  The  sentiments  are  French,"  declared  Mevrouw  Eliza- 
beth, "  and  would  meet  with  no  sympathy  here." 

"  You  think  not  ? "    asked  lieinout's  voice   from   the 


338  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

depths  of  a  bay  window.  He  came  slowly  back  into  the 
light.  "As  it  happens,"  he  said,  "  I  can  favour  you,  if  you 
like,  witli  a  translation  of  Jane's  poem.  I  bought  it,  by  the 
merest  cliance,  on  my  way  home  this  afternoon."  And, 
drawing  a  newspaper  from  his  pocket,  with  a  word  of 
apology  to  the  Frenchman,  he  gave  them  the  whole  thing 
over  again. 

"  That  is  how  it  sounds  in  Dutch,"  he  said. 

"  And  very  ugly  too,"  said  Margherita. 

"  The  translation  is  not  half  bad,"  protested  sententious 
Jane  ;  "  whom  is  it  by  ?  "  Gf^eorge  yawned  audibly.  Sim- 
mans  had  taken  the  paper  from  Reinout's  hand.  "  Queer  lit- 
erature," he  said,  "  for  the  Jonker  van  Eexelaer,"  and  passed 
it  on  to  the  Count.  That  gentleman  glanced  at  the  title, 
and  dropt  the  red-hot,  revolutionary  coal. 

Eeinout  laughed.  Mevrouw  Elizabeth  smilingly  shook 
a  substantial  finger.  "  Rene,  Rene  ! "  she  said.  "  You 
are  an  enfant  terrible.  But  we  know  it  is  only  your 
fun." 

"  What  is  it  all  about  ?  "  inquired  the  judge,  pulling 
himself  together  and  definitely  waking  up.  "  What  has 
Eeinout  got  there  ?  I  suppose  it  is  the  '  Cry  of  the  People.' 
Well,  Simmans,  we  have  it  at  the  Law  Courts  and  the  Min- 
istries. I  agree  with  him ;  it  is  far  better  to  know  what 
these  foolish  people  say." 

"  Oh,  the  socialists,  you  know ! "  remarked.  Rolline's 
Jonker,  screwing  his  eye-glass  tight. 

His  fond  young  wife  stretched  forth  her  fan  to  playfully 
tap  his  arm.     "  Don't,"  she  said,  "  you  horrid  boy." 

But  Simmans  was  resolved  to  have  his  say.  "  It  is  dif- 
ferent for  us,"  he  declaimed,  "  who  stand  forth  to  protect 
society.  But  Eeinout  is  one  of  life's  favoured  butterflies. 
We,  on  the  ramparts,  must  accustom  ourselves  to  the  smell 
of  the  powder." 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  I  always  feel,"  interposed  Margherita, 
turning  from  her  earnest  conversation  with  her  attache. 


A  MYSTERIOUS  POET.  339 

"  The  smell  of  poor  people  is  so  very  disagreeable.  It  pre- 
vents one  from  being  as  kind  as  one  might." 

"  But  who'  is  this  Dutch  revolutionary  poet  ? "  per- 
sisted Jane. 

Simmans  picked  up  the  paper.  "An  anonymous  hero," 
he  answered,  "  who  signs  with  a  P.  P  stands  for  Peter  or 
Paul." 

"  Probably  Paul,"  put  in  Reinout.  "A  prince  of  revo- 
lutionaries, if  men  had  but  obeyed  him  ! " 

Half  an  hour  later  the  Rexelaers  van  Altena  were  driv- 
ing home.  "A  dull  evening,"  opined  Mevrouw  Elizabeth. 
"  Jane  was  stupid  with  her  poem.  And  Reinout  pushes  his 
jokes  too  far." 

"  The  salm.i  was  good,"  replied  the  judge. 

"Do  you  know.  Mamma,  I  believe  Reinout  is  in  ear- 
nest?" said  Antoinette. 

"  In  earnest !  "  cried  her  mother,  much  flurried.  "  How  ? 
What  do  you  mean  ?    What  did  he  say  ?  " 

Antoinette  shrieked  with  laughter.  "  In  earnest,  I  mean, 
as  regards  the  poor,"  she  said  as  soon  as  she  could  speak. 

"  He  knows  nothing  about  the  poor,"  retorted  Mevrouw, 
turning  away  from  her  irritating  daughter. 

Guy  and  George,  walking  home  together,  discussed  their 
relations  with  far  greater  freedom.  They  both  agreed  that 
the  evening  would  have  been  most  insufferably  dull,  but 
for  the  amusement  of  watching  Margherita's  "  exotic 
vivacity." 

"A  flirt  of  forty!"  remarked  Guy.  "I  don't  think 
Uncle  Hil  half  likes  it.  The  more  fool  he.  Besides,  he's 
got  more  than  his  share  of  luck  already." 

"  Uncle  nil's  not  half  a  bad  fellow,"  said  George. 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  think  so.  I  wish  you'd  tell  me 
how  you  managed  to  extract  all  that  money  out  of  him." 

"Ah,  wouldn't  you  like  to  know,"  said  George. 

"  Yes,  I  should.     Truth  to  tell,  I  don't  think  there  was 
23 


3-10  TUE   GREATER  Gl.ORY. 

any  ruse  about  it.  You're  too  stupid.  You  just  asked  him, 
and  he  said  Yes." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  replied  George.     "  You  might  try  it." 

Keiuout  was  putting  on  his  overcoat  in  the  hall,  when 
his  father  came  out  to  him. 

"  My  dear  bo}^"  began  the  Count,  "  I  have  been  wanting 
to  say  a  few  words  to  you  for  many  days  past.  Of  course 
you  are  quite  welcome  to  spend  your  nights  at  the  Club  or 
wherever  else  you  prefer  to  spend  them.  Only  don't  overdo 
it.  Sometimes  we  see  nothing  of  you  for  fort3'-eight  con- 
secutive hours.  There,  I  am  sure  we  understand  each  other. 
Exaggeration  in  all  things  is  an  evil.     Good-night." 

My  Lord  High  Seneschal  glided  up  to  his  bedroom, 
humming  a  bright  little  tune.  Before  extinguishing  the 
light  he  nodded  complacently  to  His  Excellency  in  the 
glass,  a  mealy-faced,  wiry-haired  Excellency  in  a  night-shirt. 
And  although  he  had  forgotten  the  quotation  which,  ten 
years  ago,  had  spurred  him  on  to  scorn  the  lowest  rung  of 
his  Jacob's  Ladder,  yet  the  thought  was  in  his  mind  to- 
night. "  So  doth  the  greater  glory  dim  the  less."  Nothing 
— absolutely  nothing — was  left  him  to  desire.  He  sank  into 
the  blissful  repose  of  an  unshadowed  success. 

The  Baron,  at  Deynum,  laid  down  the  Provincial  Gazette 
with  a  smile. 


CHAPTER    XLVIIL 

STAINS. 

Geoege  Rexelaek  had  always  been  Grandmamma 
Borck's  favourite.  "  He  was  so  delightfully  stupid,"  she 
said ;  she  did  not  add  that  she  had  retained  a  quondam 
beauty's  weakness  for  good  looks.  Grandmamma  Borck 
would  have  married  George  to  Cecile, — George,  not  Guy — 
could  she  have  afforded  to  let  Cecile  marry  at  all.  "  Come 
and  tell  me  everything,  George,"  she  would  say.  "  You're 
too  weak  to  stand  alone." 

She  even  helped  him  with  a  little,  carefully  counted, 
money.  It  was  Cecile's.  And  she  resigned  herself  to  his 
being  "  a  man  about  town,"  in  these  days  when  the  turnstile 
of  "  examination "  guards  the  old  paths  of  honour  and 
glory.  "  There  are  other  heiresses,"  she  said,  "  besides 
Cecile." 

But  the  heiresses  held  aloof — honest  Dutch  maidens — 
God  bless  them  !  any  one  of  them  is  worth  six  of  the  men. 
Once,  indeed,  the  old  woman  succeeded  in  concocting  an 
engagement,  but  in  a  mouth  it  was  broken  off.  "  I  could 
marry  a  beautiful  statue,"  said  the  damsel  frankly,  "  for  a 
statue  would  not  open  its  mouth  now  and  then  to  say  a 
foolish  thing." 

George  was  content  not  to  care.  Even  in  his  salad  days 
he  had  been  as  cool  as  a  cucumber.  "  I  want,"  he  admitted, 
"  to  have  a  great  deal  of  money ;  it's  the  sole  thing  I  care 
for,  and  some  day  I  shall  manage  it.  I  know  I  could  get  it 
now,  if  they  would  but  let  me  alone."    "  How?"  the  Dowa- 


342  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

ger  once  asked  him.  "  In  business,"  said  stupid  George. 
Tlie  old  lady  laughed  herself  purple. 

But  a  couple  of  months  later  he  came  to  her  with  an 
important  face  and  a  tiny  parcel.  He  had  a  habit  of  con- 
versing with  everyone  on  his  slow  life's  journey — in  trains, 
on  steamers,  in  places  of  amusement — "  for  want,"  Jane 
nsed  to  tell  him,  "  of  something  to  say."  Well,  that  morn- 
ing he  had  been  to  Delft,  in  the  barge,  and  had  come  across 
a  sailor  just  returned  from  the  Indies,  and  that  sailor  had 
proved  the  happy  possessor  of  a  magnificent  secret  which  he 
was  desirous  to  share,  for  a  consideration,  with  somebody 
else.  He  had  told  George  all  about  it,  except,  of  course,  the 
secret  itself.  Having  strayed  from  his  ship,  it  appears,  on 
the  coast  of  New  Guinea,  this  man  had  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  a  tribe  of  Papuans — the  genuine  Tatua-Papuas — and  the 
Tatuas  had  tattooed  him  all  over,  in  their  own  peculiar 
manner,  and  he  had  lived  among  them  and  done  duty  as  a 
medicine-man.  The  tattooing  of  the  Tatuas  is  of  course 
ineradicable,  but  they  paint  themselves  also  with  paints, 
greases  and  gums,  and  these  paintings  the  sailor  perceived 
they  could  easily  remove  by  means  of  a  plant  called  Papti. 
In  fact,  each  lady  used  to  be  done  np  fresh  from  time  to 
time,  said  the  sailor,  when  the  spring  fashions  came  in ;  his 
own  wife  had  shown  him  the  trick.  He  had  escaped  from 
the  tribe,  and  had  got  back  to  Europe,  bringing  the  secret 
away  with  him,  though  not  the  wife,  and  here  that  secret 
was.  He  had  extracted  a  dirty  green  lump  from  his  pocket 
and  shown  it  to  George.  "  Warranted,"  he  said,  "  to  remove 
all  stains,  spots,  blots,  and  blemishes  on  the  human  com- 
plexion or  any  other  soft  material,  silks,  velvets,  woollens, 
genuine  kids,  etc.,  etc.  Will  not  clean  pots  and  pans.  Will- 
ing to  dispose  of  it  for  three  thousand  florins  down,  and  dirt 
cheap." 

"  I  like  the  reservation,"  said  the  Dowager,  after  listen- 
ing to  this  ridiculous  story.  "  I  always  think  it  looks 
so    well    in    the   advertisements.     Throw   away   that   dirty 


STAIXS.  343 

little  ball,  George.  You  know  I  have  a  horror  of  in- 
fection." 

But  foolish  George  had  taken  the  matter  seriously. 
Only  three  thousand  florins,  and  a  fortune  to  be  made  !  "  I 
assure  you,  grandma,  there  is  something  in  it,"  he  entreated, 
"  I  only  wish  you  would  let  me  shew  you — "  he  bent  for- 
ward, uplifting  the  little  green  ball  between  finger  and 
thumb.     "  If  you  only  had  a  grease-stain  somewhere  about 

you "  said  George  with  scrutinising  glances.     But  the 

Baroness's  glossy  black  silk  lay  serene  and  spotless  about 
her  meagre  limbs.  "  Nonsense,"  she  said  sharply.  "  Throw 
it  away  at  once.     And  talk  about  something  else." 

But  fools  rush  in exactly.     "  No,  no,  I  must  show 

you.  It's  too  wonderful ! "  cried  George.  He  caught  up  a 
pen  from  an  inkstand  at  his  grandmother's  elbow  and,  be- 
fore she  could  stop  him,  he  had  dropped  a  small  blot  on  the 
crimson  plush  tablecloth.  The  dowager  screamed  with  in- 
dignation. She,  who  considered  the  smallest  visible  blemish 
the  greatest  of  sins.  "  Only  Avait  till  it  dries.  Ma'am,"  ex- 
postulated George,  "  and  I'll  shew  you "     She  refused 

to  be  shewn.  She  ordered  her  grandson  out  of  her  presence. 
And  he  departed,  leaving  behind  him,  in  his  flurry,  the 
little  green  ball. 

The  Dowager  remained  in  her  chair,  gasping  with  in- 
dignation before  the  black  speck  on  the  cloth  and  the  anti- 
dote which  the  criminal  had  left  lying  beside  it.  She  sat 
thus  a  long  time,  in  utter  disgust,  and  watched  the  ink  dry ; 
then,  partly  from  curiosity,  partly  from  inability  to  endure 
the  sight  of  the  stain  any  longer,  she  took  up  the  little 
strong-smelling  pea,  in  the  most  gingerly  manner,  with  her 
skinny,  slender  fingers,  and  began  slowly  rubbing  the  spot 
beneath  the  fading  light.  Presently  she  got  up  to  fetch  a 
candle  from  her  bureau,  and  Cecile,  when  she  came  in  half 
an  hour  later,  found  her  grandmother  mopping  ink  all  over 
the  tablecloth. 

Next  morninfr   Georcre  received  an  invitation  to  come 


344  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

uml  see  his  forgiving  Granny.  He  found  her  in  a  most 
amiable  mood,  and  they  discussed  pro's  and  con's  in  a  busi- 
nesslike manner.  "  1  am  sure  I  could  work  it,"  reiterated 
George.  But  the  far-seeing  Dowager  had  doubts.  "  Why, 
you  would  have  to  spend  a  hundred  thousand  florins  the 
first  twelvemonth  in  advertisements  alone  !  "  she  said.  The 
great  thing  was  to  possess  oneself  of  the  secret.  That  done, 
the  rest  would  "  develop  itself  "  by  means  of  a  company  or, 
still  better,  a  syndicate.  But  how  raise,  within  twenty-four 
hours,  the  preliminary  three  thousand  ?  "  Unfortunately," 
said  the  cautious  old  lady,  "  I  have  barely  a  penny  of  my 
own." 

"  Uncle  Hilarius  ?  "  suggested  George,  very  doubtfully. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  that " ;  she  sat  and  pondered. 
"  That  little  story  you  told  me  a  month  ago,"  she  said 
presently,  "  about  going  to  call  on  your  aunt  and  running 
upstairs  unannounced  into  her  sitting-room.  You  remem- 
ber, eh?" 

"  Of  course  I  remember,  Granny,"  said  George  with 
downcast  eyes. 

"  I  told  you  to  lay  it  by  and  sjoeak  to  nobody  about  it. 
Put  it  in  the  bank,  so  to  say.  Perhaps  the  time  has  come 
to  take  it  out.  But,  mind  you,  only  in  case  of  extremest 
necessity,  for  of  course  it  will  cause  unpleasantness.  So 
use  all  your  other  arguments  first.  You  understand?  And 
now  go  and  speak  to  your  uncle." 

"  Ko,  I  don't  quite  understand,"  said  George. 

"  Dear,  dear,  how  stupid  you  are.  I  feel  convinced  you 
will  die  a  Croesus.  Well,  I  must  tell  you  more  plainly." 
And  she  did. 

When  Count  Eexelaer  had  listened  to  his  nephew  for 
fifteen  seconds,  he  said  :  "  No,  he  never  lent  anybody  any- 
thing ;  it  was  against  his  principles.  He  only  gave." 
Even  George  was  not  simple  enough  to  suggest :  "  Then 
give."      But  he   pushed   his  appeal   nearly   five   minutes 


STAINS.  345 

longer,  till  the  Count  said  "  No  "  again,  so  exceedingly  irri- 
tably and  with  such  ungracious  additions  that  George  felt 
the  moment  was  come  to  expose  this  particular  nejihew's 
discreet  claims  to  more  consideration.  "  I  think  you  owe 
me  a  good  turn,  Uncle  Hil,"  he  began,  as  his  grandmother 

had  instructed  him,  "  if  only  because "     And  then  the 

unhappy  Comptroller  of  another  and  a  more  august  house- 
hold than  his  own  found  himself  treated  to  that  little  story 
which  had  so  much  diverted  the  Dowager  five  Aveeks  ago. 
How  Nephew  George  had  come  to  the  house  to  call  on  Aunt 
Margherita,  and  how  he  had  run  up  unannounced  to  the 
back  drawing-room,  and  how 

When  the  enterprise  was  launched,  in  due  time,  it 
"  took  "  almost  immediately.  The  money  had  been  found 
by  a  couple  of  wealthy  contractors,  of  the  name  of  Kops, 
Abraham  and  Benjamin,  who  had  become  partners  in  the 
business  of  which  George  and  one  of  the  young  Kopses  were 
managing  directors.  "Papuum!  Papuum  !  "  (as  the  new 
product  was  called)  spread  all  over  th'e  country,  with  a 
placard  exhibiting  a  bright-coloured  Tatua-Papua  washing 
the  paint  off  one  side  of  his  face.  They  first  advertised 
"  Will  not  clean  Metals !  "  again  and  again  ;  nothing  else. 
That  was  an  idea  of  the  Dowager's,  who  entered  into  the 
fun  of  the  thing  and  was  responsible  for  two  thirds  of  her 
grandson's  success.  "  Papuum  !  Papuum  !  Will  not  clean 
Metals!"  Everybody  wanted  to  find  out  what  it  would 
clean.  There  was  a  young  lady  at  the  offices,  always  in 
attendance,  most  willing  to  shew  you.  You  might  spill 
whatever  you  wished  to — in  reason — on  herself  or  her  wliite 
satin  dress.  George  was  going  to  be  an  extremely  wealthy 
man.  He  was  as  good  as  engaged  to  the  daughter  and 
heiress  of  Benjamin  Kops  (no  Jewish  blood  traceable), 
whose  empty  little  heart  went  bumping  up  and  down  at  the 
idea  of  a  handsome  husband  and  a  coronet.  And  it  must 
be  confessed  he  worked  hard  at  the  business.     The  delight 


346  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

of  watching  moucy  breed  seemed  to  have  sharpened  all  his 
faculties.  He  sent  round  to  every  house  in  the  Hague,  a 
pea  of  the  wonderful  mixture  with  accompanying  verses 
(which,  bad  as  they  were,  he  had  not  composed).  The 
wooden-seats  in  the  public  gardens  and  all  the  tramcar 
cushions  everywhere  were  renovated — once — with  Papuum. 
A  cake  of  it  was  given  away  to  any  orphan-child  that  could 
prove  its  parent's  demise  to  have  preceded  "  the  greatest 
discovery  of  the  age."  Thrice  over  an  attempt  was  made 
to  import  genuine  Tatuas  to  parade  the  streets  and  sit  in  the 
offices ;  they  all  died  on  the  voyage,  but  even  that  was  an 
advertisement.  The  chief  difficulty  consisted  in  breeding 
the  plant  fast  enough  in  enormous  conservatories.  The 
supply  gave  out  once,  and  that  was  by  far  the  best  advertise- 
ment of  all.  There  was  a  perfect  battery  at  the  doors,  and 
a  clamour  for  Papuum  ! 

And  the  noble,  the  illustrious  Eexelaers,  they  were  petri- 
fied by  this  disgrace  to  their  immaculate  name?  They 
were,  till  they  found  that  this  Papuum  produced  not  thou- 
sands but  tens  of  thousands  of  florins,  and  then  even  Mar- 
gherita  remembered  that  the  money,  unlike  its  producer, 
"did  not  smell."  Besides,  now-a-days,  there  are  but  a 
couple  of  countries  remaining  in  Europe — Austria,  for 
instance — where  it  is  still  possible  to  associate  any  earning 
of  money  with  disgrace.  Holland  is  not  one  of  them.  In 
the  twentieth  century  there  will  be  none  at  all. 

The  Rexelaers  of  Altena,  the  brother  and  sisters,  chaffed 
George  a  little  at  first.  They  were  always  finding  specks  on 
his  clothes  and  crying  out  for  "Papoosel!"  Once  Topsy 
even  dabbed  him  with  paint  from  her  colour-box,  but  he 
soon  frightened  them,  by  his  rages,  into  letting  him  alone. 
He  permitted  no  allusion,  out  of  business  hours,  to  his  busi- 
ness side.  This  rule  the  old  lady  had  especially  impressed 
upon  him.  He  went  out  into  society  just  the  same,  but 
onlv  after  four,  and  in  the  office  he  wore  coronets  on  his 


STAINS.  ?A7 

cuff-studs.  Many  people  compared  him  most  favourably 
with  his  elder  brother,  Ouy.  But  he  could  not  prevent  the 
roar  of  laughter  which  went  up  on  all  sides,  when  he  acci- 
dentally sat  down  on  a  freshly  painted  seat,  in  the  German 
minister's  garden. 

His  father  and  mother  were  even  pleased  to  sanction  his 
engagement  to  Miss  Kops.  Of  course  she  must  be  con- 
sidered "  faute  de  mieux,"  but  the  match  would  consolidate 
the  business:  Unfortunately  the  Kopses  happened  to  be — 
of  all  things!  —  Roman  Catholics.  Mevrouw  Elizabeth 
hesitated. 

"  They  could  not  possibly  be  anything  better,"  said  her 
mother,  whom  she  consulted.  "  It  looks  less  Jewish  than 
anything  else.  The  girl's  name,  I  hear,  is  Maria  Christina, 
a  very  judicious  selection.  I  should  at  once  make  a  rule 
that  she  be  known  as  Christina.  You  can  say  that  there 
are  Maries  in  the  family  already." 

"  But  there  are  not,  mamma  ?  "  remarked  Mevrouw  van 
liexelaer. 

"  How  tiresome  you  can  be,  Elizabeth,"  said  the  Dowager 
peevishly,  "  and  so  rude." 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 


THE   lady's    dole 


"  I'll  do  it,"  said  Count  Rexelaer  aloud.  "  I  ought  to 
have  done  it  before.     But  1  was  alwa\'s  too  good-natured." 

A  couple  of  hours  later  Notary  Strum,  at  work  in  his 
office,  received  a  telegraphic  message  summoning  him  to 
My  Lord  of  Deynum's  presence  by  eleven  on  the  morrow 
morning. 

He  rose  from  his  desk  with  a  growl  and  lumbered  across 
the  little  entrance-hall,  to  the  room  where  his  mother  sat 
knitting,  as  ever. 

"  Here's  a  telegram,"  said  Xicholas.  "  Order  from 
Pacha  to  come  up  to  town  to-morrow.  Xever  mind  rain, 
hail,  wind  or  snow.     Pacha  says  :  '  Come.     I  whistled.'  " 

"  Oh,  Nicholas,  with  your  chill ! "  said  the  old  woman, 
and  laid  down  her  work. 

"  Yes,  ^cith  my  chill !  "  retorted  Nicholas.  "  I  couldn't 
well  go  without." 

"  I  suppose  you  must,"  said  the  widow  thoughtfully. 
"You  see  his  Excellency  doesn't  know  you  are  indisposed. 
And  it  is  a  great  privilege  for  you  to  act  as  the  confidential 
adviser  of  so  magnificent  a  patron,  Xicky." 

" '  Magnificent '  is  the  word,"  replied  Nicky,  and  went 
back  to  his  office,  banging  the  door. 

All  these  years  mother  and  son  had  jogged  on  side  by 
side,  or  rather  son  a-top.  "  A  wife  and  children  would  cost 
me  a  second  servant,"  reasoned  the  notary.  "  Mother  looks 
after  me  and  the  maid."     But  her  company  was  not  only 


THE   LADY'S   DOLE.  349 

convenience  and  complacency ;  for  she  had  a  maddening 
way  of  ignoring — from  incompetcTicy  to  comprehend  them 
— all  the  dear  fellow's  favourite  fads  of  thought  and  expres- 
sion, and  having  lived  her  whole  life  in  submission  to  God, 
the  priest  and  the  gentlefolks,  she  could  not  remember  that 
Nicholas  believed,  or  said  he  believed,  in  the  Almighty  but 
vaguely,  in  her  other  divinities  not  at  all.  She"  would 
gladly  have  sacrificed  her  life  for  her  son — in  fact,  she  did 
so,  in  a  long-drawn  daily  sacrifice — but  she  was  incapable 
of  sparing  him  her  old-fashioned  utterances,  from  which  he 
vainly  fled.  If  he  grew  ironical,  she  took  him  in  earnest. 
If  he  flew  out  at  her,  she  would  meekly  cite  his  father. 
Nicholas  quoted  his  father  at  the  clients,  not  to  himself. 

When  Nicholas  started  next  morning  at  daybreak,  he 
was  safely  wrapped  up  and  galoshed  and  comfortered,  and 
his  mother  came  running  after  him,  in  the  cold,  with  pocket- 
handkerchiefs  and  lozenges,  of  which  he  had  already  procured 
a  supply.     He  sent  her  back  with  a  growl. 

He  had  the  pleasure  of  travelling  all  the  way  to  the 
Hague  with  a  man  who  lamented  "  the  decrease  of  defer- 
ence in  social  relations."  He  bore  this  with  the  fierce  si- 
lence on  which  he  had  long  nourished  his  spites  and  dis- 
contents. "  No  use  quarrelling,"  he  would  tell  himself, 
"  with  one's  bread  and  butter,  because  the  butter's  bad." 

His  "magnificent  patron"  received  him  with  unusual 
friendliness,  even  thanking  him  for  coming.  "  I  wonder 
what  he  wants,"  thought  Strum. 

Count  Eexelaer  immediately  proceeded  to  enlighten  him. 
"  Strum,  I  am  going  to  do  it,"  said  his  Excellency  in  his 
hasty  way.  "  I  mean,  about  '  the  Lady's  Dole.'  You  were 
quite  right.  I  ought  never  to  have  allowed  them  to  settle 
again  in  Deynum." 

The  Notary's  heart  leapt  within  him.  He  forgot  all 
about  the  cold  or  the  discomfort  of  coming.  For  years  he 
had  vainly  been  endeavouring  to  convince  Count  Eexelaer, 
and  now  that  fine  gentleman,  just  like  a  fine  gentleman, 


350  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

sent  for  him,  in  the  middle  of  winter,  to  say :  "  I  am  con- 
vinced ! "  Xo  matter ;  he  would  be  avenged  on  his  enemy 
at  last. 

"  I  am  greatly  relieved,"  he  said,  blinking  cheerfully  be- 
hind his  glasses.  "  Your  Excellency  knows  with  what  in- 
creasing compunction  I  have  paid  the  annual  instalments 
where  they  were  no  longer  due."  In  his  heart  he  wondered  : 
What  has  happened  to  set  his  Excellency  still  more 
against  the  Baron  ? 

"  Of  course  I  knew  that  your  view  was  the  only  correct 
one,"  replied  Count  Rexelaer  coldly.  "  But  from  charity — 
pure  charity — I  declined  to  enforce  it.  Had  the  Baron 
seen  fit  to  show  that  reserve  which  I  had  a  right  to  expect 
from  a  gentleman,  instead  of  assuming  from  the  first  an  at- 
titude which  I  may  well  call  aggressive "    He  paused 

and  looked  at  Strum. 

"  Just  so,"  said  the  Notary  in  sullen  obedience,  cracking 
his  huge  finger-joints. 

"  Just  so,"  repeated  his  Excellency.  "  He  has  developed 
among  the  villagers  the  spirit  of  faction ;  he  has  openly 
opposed  me  on  every  occasion.  I  have  borne  it  all  in  a 
magnanimous  spirit,  for  I  cannot  bear  striking  a  man  when 
he's  down.  But  at  last  our  position  has  become  quite  un- 
tenable. One  of  us  must  go.  Write  him  a  letter  to  say 
that  the  money  will  no  longer  be  paid." 

Strum  drew  himself  up  eagerly,  with  one  of  his  un- 
couth jerks  ;  his  speckled  face  was  bright  with  exultation. 
"I  could  write  it  here,"  he  said,  and  let  your  Excellency 
see  it." 

"  There  is  no  such  hurry.  But  you  will  find  pen  and 
ink  on  yonder  table." 

The  Notary  availed  himself  of  the  permission.  "  I  won- 
der what  has  done  it,"  he  repeated.  "  Surely  not  that  mass 
on  the  anniversary  of  the  death  of  the  Baron's  mother  which 
they  say  he  was  so  angry  about." 

It  was  but  a  straw  which  had  caused  Count  Rexelaer's 


THE  LADY'S  DOLE.  351 

long-gathering  resentment  to  brim  over.  True,  the  Baron's 
majority  at  a  re-election  had  been  over  a  hundred  ;  Father 
Bulbius,  embittered  by  Veronica's  increasing  perversity,  had 
taken  to  preaching  distinctly  polemical  sermons,  and  such 
of  the  country  gentry  as  remained  still  untouched  by  the 
corruption  of  the  Hague  had  increased,  since  his  Excel- 
lency's appointment,  in  invidious  cordiality  to  his  rival. 
For  all  these  things  Count  Rexelaer  hated — secretly,  nerv- 
ousl}^  deeply,  according  to  his  character — Deynum,  its 
Baron  and  its  surroundings.  Now  that  he  had,  not  one 
foot  in  the  stirrup,  but  both  hands  on  the  bridle,  he  resolved 
to  hit  back,  0  the  delightful  feeling  !  Not  even  life-long 
cringing  can  teach  the  worm  not  to  turn. 

Still,  he  waited  for  the  last  little  something.  It  took 
the  shape  of  a  letter  from  the  Baroness  Borck  of  Rollingen 
to  her  cousin  Elizabeth,  containing  the  information  that  a 
wide-spread  conviction  was  obtaining  in  the  neighbourhood, 
that  all  difficulties  would  be  ultimately  set  right  by  a  mar- 
riage between  Wendela  and  Reinout.  Ridiculous  as  the  idea 
might  be,  it  had  commended  itself  to  the  country  peojole 
as  a  definite  "  restitution  "  ;  "  No  need  to  inquire  who  first 
started  it,"  wrote  the  Baroness  of  Rollingen.  "  This  is  just 
like  their  scheming  Jesuitical  ways" — the  lady  here  thought 
fit  to  ignore  the  engagement  to  Christina  Kops,  "a  disgust- 
ing alfair  altogether" — "but  I  should  be  curious  to  know, 
tliough  we  shall  never  do  that,  in  how  far  your  nephew,  by 
his  conduct,  may  have  given  to  the  story  a  semblance  of 
foundation." 

It  was  this  last  sentence  which  had  set  Count  Rexelaer 
thinking,  for  of  course  Mevrouw  Elizabeth  had  shown  him 
the  letter.  He  himself  had  been  struck  by  the  appearance 
of  that  tall,  dark  girl  the  day  she  came  up  to  the  Castle. 
He  believed  his  son  to  be  a  great  admirer  of  the  weaker 
sex ;  why  else  these  prolonged  disappearances  from  home  ? 
Well,  he  had  taken  him  behind  the  scenes  himself,  and  was 
the  last  man  to  object  to  a  measure  of  dissipation. 


352  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

But  Wendela? — that  was  another  matter.  Dull  as  Dey- 
num  undoubtedly  was,  notwithstanding  the  numerous 
guests  at  the  Castle,  young  twenty  must  be  taught  to  dis- 
tinguish. That  was  why  fathers  were  created  older  than 
their  sons. 

The  Baron  van  Eexelaer  had  been  to  see  Lise  and  her 
three  sturdy  children.  The  old  Squire  enjoyed  sitting  of 
evenings  with  Farmer  Driest  by  the  kitchen-hearth  or  on 
the  bench  outside  the  Farmhouse ;  they  were  contemporaries 
and  had  in  common  a  long  life  of  insignificant  little  all- 
important  country-experiences.  They  could  talk  of  these 
for  hours,  in  the  quiet  gloaming,  over  their  solemn  pi];)es, 
while  the  dear  music  of  the  lowing  cattle  fell  soft  ujDon 
the  Farmer's  ears  from  the  winter  stables  or  the  summer 
fields. 

The  Baron  would  talk  on,  in  leisurely  accents,  about 
Deynum,  Deynum,  Deynum.  The  farmers  and  their  chil- 
dren and  their  morals  and  their  cows  and  their  diflficulties, 
and  their  quarrels,  and  all  their  financial  ins  and  outs,  and 
a  further  infinity  of  "  ands."  His  whole  little  universe  of 
Deynum.  Driest,  on  his  side,  would  carry  on  the  conversa- 
tion with  that  mixture  of  deference  and  independence  in 
"which  the  Dutch  peasant  excels. 

But  perhaps  the  Baron  liked  jilaying  with  the  children 
even  better.  He  was  foolishly  fond  of  "  babies,"  and  grand- 
children of  his  own  he  had  none.  The  wee  bits  of  human- 
ity at  the  Farm  adored  him.  Yes,  he  had  many  compensa- 
tions. 

He  kept  thinking  of  these  during  his  trudge  along  the 
frost-broken  lanes.  Like  many  men  whose  troubles  are  very 
real,  he  loved  to  look  upon  the  brighter  side.  He  was  far 
better  off  than  he  had  any  right  to  be.  For  his  conscience 
reproached  him  still. 

Some  children  were  trying  to  slide  in  the  slush.  They 
nudged  each  other  and  jerked  their  caps.     For  "Mynheer " 


THE   LADY'S  DOLE.  353 

was  the  tangible  Presence ;  the  other,  up  at  the  Castle,  could 
only  be  an  August  Xame. 

Veronica  came  round  from  behind  the  wall  of  the  Par- 
sonage, dragging  a  basket  of  peat. 

"  Good-day,  Veronica.  How  is  his  Reverence  ?  "  said 
the  Baron  amiably. 

"  Poorly,"  replied  Veronica.  "  He  can't  stand  the 
draughts  of  this  house." 

"Dear  me,  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that." — "Ah,  I  should 
think  so,"  muttered  Veronica — "  I  wonder  whether  I  could 
go  in  to  him  for  a  moment  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  may,"  replied  the  housekeeper  ungra- 
ciously.    "  He  won't  keep  as  quiet  as  I  want  him  to." 

"  Ah,  you  let  him  have  quiet  ? "  said  the  Baron  ;  even 
the  mildest  of  men  like  their  morsel  of  malice  at  times. 
Baron  Rexelaer  was  perfectly  aware  that  Veronica  pro- 
claimed him,  whenever  she  dared,  a  spoiler  of  other  men's 
goods.  He  had  turned  her  meek  priest  out  of  house  and 
home ;  worse  than  that,  he  had  appropriated  the  small 
square  of  oilcloth  she  had  left  in  her  kitchen,  a  square 
bought  with  her  own  earnings  some  twenty  years  ago.  That 
unconscionable,  and  unconscious,  confiscation  of  oilcloth 
formed  a  grievance  still  greater  than  the  loss  of  the  whole 
of  the  former  Parsonage. 

The  Baron  knocked  briskly  at  the  living-room  door. 
"  I  don't  want  anything,"  cried  Bulbius  in  querulous  reply. 
He  turned  a  slow  head  in  his  arm-chair  by  the  fire,  and 
pushed  back  the  bowl  at  his  side  which  had  evidently  con- 
tained some  unpalatable  form  of  slop.  Veronica  had  half- 
a-dozen  mildewed  health-dicta,  which  she  reverenced  like 
Gospel-truths.  "  Starve  a  cold,"  was  one  of  them.  The 
Father  would  sometimes  buy  biscuits,  but  these  grew  terri- 
bly stale  in  their  paper  bag.  And  he  rejoiced  that  Veronica 
had  not  as  yet  discovered  the  bottle  in  the  cupboard,  nor 
the  two  glasses,  which  he  never  loashed. 

"  You  coddle  yourself,  Bulbius,"  said  the  Baron  bluntly. 


354  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

He  had  barely  felt  illness  himself,  and  could  not  compre- 
hend it  unless,  as  in  his  wife's  case,  it  assumed  a  visible 
form. 

"  I  am  not  robust  like  your  Xobleness,"  pleaded  Bulbius. 
"You  see,  t  am  too  stout." 

"  I  do,"  said  the  Baron. 

"  But  what  is  a  poor  creature  to  do." 

^'  Gymnastics,"  said  the  Baron. 

Father  Bulbius  spread  out  his  vast  body,  which  looked 
still  more  mountainous  under  his  shawl. 

"  The  roj^e  would  break,"  he  said  helplessly. 

"  There  are  other  things  besides  the  trapeze.  You  might 
try  a  ten-mile  walk.  But  there ;  when  a  man  has  once  made 
up  his  mind  to  die  of  apoplexy,  no  one  can  stop  him.  lie 
must  just  have  his  way." 

*'  But  I  don't  want  to  die,"  protested  the  Father  piteously. 
*'  Neither  of  heat  in  the  head,  as  you  now  predict,  nor  of 
cold  in  the  feet,  as  Veronica  prophesies.  There's  the  post- 
man. Baron.  Shall  we  have  him  in  ?  "  And  he  rapped  his 
fat  forefinger  against  the  windowpane. 

Y'"es,  there  was  a  letter  for  ilynheer  the  Baron.  It  was 
Strum's  letter.  The  old  gentleman  looked  down  at  it,  as  it 
lay  in  his  hand,  with  a  quick  presentiment  of  coming  ill. 
Y^'et  it  was  eight  years  now  since  he  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  watching  for  misfortune  per  post.  He  opened  the 
envelope  leisurely  and  took  out  the  enclosure.  And 
having  read  it  carefully  through,  he  laid  it  down  on  the 
table. 

"  God  is  strong,"  he  said  aloud,  and  nothing  else.  His 
voice  was  unbroken. 

Yet  its  calm,  deep  passion  frightened  the  priest.  "  What 
is  it,  dear  Baron  ?  "  he  queried  anxiously.  "  Nothing  amiss, 
I  hope?" 

"  Oh  no,  nothing  amiss,"  replied  the  Baron  van  Rexelaer. 
He  talked  for  a  few  moments  of  other  things — the  weather, 
the  village-school — and  then  he  rose  and  departed.     But 


THE  LADY'S   DOLE.  355 

his  steps  trembled  under  liim,  as  he  vainly  tried  to  steady 
them. 

The  Lady's  Dole,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  a  fund 
which  a  seventeenth-century  Baron  van  Eexelaer  had  insti- 
tuted by  settlements  assigning  the  annual  interest  to  "  tlie 
Spouse  of  the  Lord  of  the  Manor,  as  long  as  the  Lord  of  the 
Manor  shall  be  a  van  Eexelaer."  The  words  of  the  deed  did 
not  sti^julate  descent  from  the  donor ;  the  money  was  to  re- 
vert to  the  last  lady  of  Deynum  or  her  heirs.  The  notary 
of  the  place  was  perpetual  trustee. 

Immediately  on  the  acquisition  of  the  estate  by  Count 
Eexelaer,  Strum,  his  intellect  sharpened  by  hate,  had  point- 
ed out  to  that  gentleman  that  henceforth  the  Countess 
Margherita  alone  was  entitled  to  the  annual  payment  of 
the  appanage,  she  being  "  the  spouse  of  the  Eexelaer  van 
Deynum."  But  the  Count  had  repudiated  this  suggestion 
with  disgust,  even  after  the  return  of  the  other  had  so  se- 
riously disconcerted  him.  Gently,  though  vainly,  the  No- 
tary persisted.  Times  change  and  opinions  work  round. 
One  evening  his  Excellency  telegraphed. 

The  Baron,  walking  home  with  Strum's  letter  in  his 
pocket,  refused  to  believe  the  incredible.  He  knew  well 
enough,  none  better,  that  there  was  not  a  droj)  of  his  ances- 
tors' blood  in  the  veins  of  the  Eexelaers  van  Deynum.  "  It 
is  mere  intimidation  for  some  object  of  their  own,"  he 
thought,  and,  without  mentioning  the  matter  to  wife  or 
daughter,  he,  next  morning  early,  sought  out  tlie  Notary. 

The  office-door  was  still  closed  when  he  arrived,  but 

as  he  stood  knocking  and  scraping,  it  was  opened  by  old 

Mrs.  Strum,  who  immediately  dropped  into  a  succession  of 

curtsies.      "  Walk  in.  Mynheer  the  Baron,"  she  began  in 

awestruck  tones,  "  I  hasten  to  inform  my  son.     It  is  long 

since  your  Nobleness  accorded  us  the  honour  of  a  visit." 

And  pushing  forward  her  own  easy  chair — the  room  was 

manifestly  a  niggard's — she  bustled  away  to  find  Nicholas. 

"  Shew  him  into  the  waiting-room,"  said  Nicholas. 
24 


356  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

"  Nicky  !     The  Baron  ! " 

"  Shew  him  in,  do  you  hear  ?     Say  I  am  engaged." 

"  Nicholas,  vour  father  would  never  have  approved  of 
that." 

"  Why  didn't  you  go  with  my  father,  then,  if  you  can't 
manage  without  him  ?  Do  as  I  say."  And  this  hater  of 
tyrants,  who  called  Count  Rexelaer  "  the  Pacha,"  pointed 
with  the  tip  of  his  quill  to  the  door. 

The  old  lady  turned  aAvay  with  a  sigh.  "  Your  Noble- 
ness will  be  more  comfortable  here,"  she  said,  leading  the 
way.  "  It  is  so  hot  in  the  sitting-room."  The  Baron,  ut- 
terly indifferent,  sat  down. 

Twenty  minutes'  wait  ensued,  during  which  two  peas- 
ants came  in  who,  seeing  their  former  lord,  remained  stand- 
ing. One  was  an  old  man.  "  Sit  down,  sit  down,"  said  the 
Baron.  Strum's  clerk  bent  scribbling  by  the  window,  his 
fingers  blue  wath  cold. 

At  last  a  bell  rang  in  the  inner  room.  As  the  clerk  put 
his  head  through  the  door.  Strum's  voice  was  heard  saying : 
"  Mynheer  Eexelaer." 

"  Please  to  walk  in,  Mynheer  the  Baron,"  said  the  clerk, 
standing  deferentially  aside.  A  faint  flush  of  colour  crept 
over  the  old  gentleman's  wan  cheeks. 

"  Good  morning,  Mynheer  ;  take  a  seat,"  said  Strum, 
and  continued  his  writing  for  the  tenth  of  a  minute.  Then 
he  looked  up.     "  Well,"  he  said. 

"  I  have  received  a  letter  from  you.  Strum,"  said  the 
Baron,  "  I  should  wish  to  know  what  it  means." 

"  What  it  says,"  replied  .Strum. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  is  the  object  of  the  threat 
it  contains." 

"  No  other  object  than  the  threat  itself,  which  is  not  a 
threat,  but  a  notification." 

"  In  other  words,  I  am  to  understand,  that  it  is  your 
unalterable  resolve  to  substitute  the  Countess  Eexelaer  for 
my  wife  as  recipient  of  the  Lady's  Dole?" 


THE  LADY'S  DOLE.  357 

"  My  unalterable  resolve.  What  else  can  I  do  ? 
My  movements  in  this  matter  are  dependent  on  the 
Count's  generosity.  Excuse  my  saying,  Mynheer  the 
Baron,  that  you  have  been  living  all  these  years  upon  his 
bounty." 

"  I — on  his  bounty,"  stammered  the  Baron. 

"  Undeniably."  Strum  cracked  his  thumbs  for  pleasui'e. 
Yet  he  could  not  quite  overcome  the  tendency  to  lapse  into 
civility.     He  brought  himself  to  "with  a  jerk. 

"  A  Notary's  duty  is  seldom  doubtful,"  he  added,  "  as 
my  dead  father  used  to  say." 

"  Ah,  leave  me  in  peace  with  your  dead  father," 
burst  out  the  Baron,  "  God  grant  he  rest  quiet  in  his 
grave ! " 

Strum  passed  his  great  hand  through  his  untidy  hair. 
He  looked  like  a  beaten  school-boy  as  he  joined  his  splay 
feet.  "  I  am  very  busy  this  morning,"  he  murmured,  "  and 
if  there  is  nothing  else " 

"  Once  more,  the  money  will  not  be  paid  next  month?" 
queried  the  Baron  anxiously,  despite  his  efforts  at  self-con- 
trol.    "  It  will  never  be  paid  again  ?  " 

"  'No,  for  it  cannot  be.     It  is  claimed  by  the  owner." 

"  You  know  perfectly  well  that  only  the  testator's  own 
family  is  meant.  You,  the  descendant  of  the  N'otary  who 
drew  up  the  deed." 

"  The  deed  does  not  say  so.  I  have  no  opportunity  of 
consulting  my  ancestor." 

"  It  is  starvation,"  groaned  the  Baron,  breaking  down 
for  one  moment.  "  What  object  have  you  in  taking  the 
bread  from  our  mouths?  " 

A  suppressed  gleam  of  triumj)]!  played  behind  the 
Notary's  spectacles.  "  I  am  only  doing  my  duty,"  he  said. 
"  Once  before,  when  I  was  doing  my  duty,  you  struck  me, 
Baron  Eexelaer." 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  the  Baron,  "  I  was  not  sorrier  then 
than  now." 


358  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

Strum  got  up  and  faced  his  former  patron.  "  I  also  re- 
gret it,"  he  said.  lie  opened  the  door  into  the  waiting-room. 
"  Xo,  Mynlieer  the  Baron,"  he  continued,  raising  his  voice, 
"  I  cannot  give  you  that  money,  because  it  is  not  mine  to 
give." 

The  old  gentleman  eyed  the  big  lout  before  him  with 
gentle  scorn  :  "  I  will  not  tell  my  friends,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice.     "  It  would  ruin  you." 

The  Notary's  mottled  face  twitched  nervoush',  and 
though  his  attitude  remained  the  same,  yet  his  whole 
personality  seemed  to  collai^se.  "  I — I  am  nowise  afraid, 
Mynheer,"  he  stuttered.  "  I  feel  that,  whatever  my 
duty " 

"  Did  you  not  hear  me  say  I  would  not  tell  ?  "  asked  the 
Baron,  and  he  passed  out  through  the  well-filled  ante-room, 
under  a  cross-fire  of  curious  eyes. 

Mother  Strum  stood  curtsying  at  her  window.  For  a 
moment  the  wild  impulse  shook  him  to  claim  her  help. 
Then  he  recognised  the  hopelessness  of  such  humiliation 
and  smilingly  took  off  his  hat. 

As  he  passed  the  Parsonage,  he  heard  Veronica's  voice 
intoning  her  only  song — lame  of  rhyme  and  of  reason : 

"  A  fair,  a  merry  maid  was  I, 
With  dancing  step  and  laughing  eye  ! " 

"  She  may  be  back  sooner  in  the  old  place  than  she  ex- 
pects," he  thought. 

Suddenly  he  found  himself  in  his  own  sitting-room. 
"  Wherever  have  you  been  so  early  ?  "  asked  Wendela.  He 
tried  to  answer  her.  To  his  astonishment  he  could  not. 
The  room  was  clouding  over  and  twisting  round.  He 
reeled  forward  to  steady  himself,  and  fell  with  a  dull  thud 
on  the  floor. 

The  Baroness,  unable  to  assist  him,  shrieked  once  and 
then  sat  still,  with  trembling  lips.  Wendela  had  sprung 
forward.     "It   is  onlv   a  fainting   fit,"   she   said.     "Only 


THE  LADY'S  DOLE.  359 

the  sudden  coming  into  the  heat ! "  and  she  strove  to 
restore  her  father  to  consciousness.  "  Oh  mon  Dieu, 
mon  Dieu ! "  repeated  the  Baroness,  folding  her  useless 
hands.  With  her  the  words  were  no  vain  ejaculation,  but  a 
prayer. 


CHAPTER  L. 

XEW    SCENES   AXD    OLD    FACES. 

Whex  the  Baron  was  "  fully  recovered "  from  his 
stroke,  even  the  Baroness  noticed  the  change  in  him.  She 
herself,  poor  lad}',  was  now  become  a  constant  sufferer,  with 
little  to  do  but  to  watch  the  slow  ascent  of  her  gout.  Her 
head  was  growing  feeble  ;  she  could  be  utterly  broken-down 
at  times,  and  querulous.  And  Wendela,  the  headstrong, 
the  impatient,  "  born  to  conquer  her  fate,"  sat  humbled  in 
this  school  of  suffering.  The  actual  physical  sickness  com- 
manded and  obtained  her  helpful  sympathy.  She  could 
speak  of  it,  readily,  for  here  was  no  one's  fault  but  God's. 
"  It  anyone  has  blundered,"  said  the  sceptical  girl,  "  it  must 
be  mother's  Saints." 

To  her  father  also  she  was  good  ;  almost  happy,  in  his 
weakness,  to  show  him  a  tenderness  free  from  reproach. 
But  the  Baron  rebelled  against  himself.  "Face  the  en- 
emy !  "  he  repeated,  and  he  tried  to  do  it  with  his  stiffened 
leg.  This  seizure  was  nothing,  he  said.  Had  he  not  had  a 
similar,  if  slighter,  one  many  years  ago  on  the  evening 
when  the  Marquis  had  found  him  ?  He  was  well,  for  he 
had  no  time  to  be  ill. 

It  was  true  that  he  had  no  time.  The  three  weeks  sped 
on  rapidly  to  the  first  of  March  ;  on  that  day  the  "  Dole  " 
fell  due.  As  the  hours  wore  on  without  bringing  the  ac- 
customed packet,  the  Baron,  still  very  partially  recovered, 
grew  more  and  more  restless ;  he  shut  himself  up,  foodless, 
in  his  room  and  sat  starinc^  at  the  inevitable  end.     Yet  at 


NEW  SCENES  AND   OLD   FACES.  3(31 

niglit-fall  his  very  desperation  roused  him.  He  wrote  a 
hurried  note,  after  lengthy  inspection  of  that  part  of  the 
newspaper  which  he  had  not  glanced  at  for  years,  and  sent 
Gustave  to  the  post  with  it.  The  old  servant  shook  his 
head  over  the  superscription.  And  the  Baron  lay  awake  all 
night,  alternately  building  up  dreams  of  daily  bread  (no 
longer  of  prosperity)  and  debating  with  himself  whether  he 
should  not  telegraph  a  recall  at  dawn.  Why  should  he  ? 
Failure  could  not  make  matters  much  worse,  and  success 
was  become  a  necessity. 

He  trusted  to  his  wife's  noAV  almost  ceaseless  orisons  and 
bead-countings,  although  these  were  never  for  temporal  sal- 
vation. The  Baroness,  stiifening  in  her  chair,  in  a  little 
alcove  of  crucifixes,  images,  and  invocations,  was  rapidly  be- 
coming "  devote,"  dead  already,  but  for  her  physical  pains 
and  her  still  active  charity,  a  white,  worn  shadow.  She 
would  ask  for  her  poor  to  come  and  see  her — hers  by  the 
mastery  of  hearts ;  she  knew  them  well :  the  resjiectable, 
the  disreputable,  the  professional,  the  needy  that  are 
ashamed,  and  she  sent  Wendela  among  them  with  creature 
comforts ;  the  spiritual  fared  but  ill  at  that  young  lady's 
hands.  Once  the  daughter,  after  long  impatience,  inter- 
rupted her  mother's  monotonous  mumbling.  "  Are  you 
happy.  Mamma  ?  "  she  asked  abruptly.  "  No,"  whispered 
the  Baroness,  her  pale  eyes  uplifted,  as  ever,  to  the  solemn 
dying  Christ.  The  girl  went  up  to  her  room  and  threw 
herself  down  in  a  passion  of  weeping,  her  eyes  averted,  long 
after,  in  dull,  rebellious  thought,  from  that  great  Sufferer 
who  had  watched  her  slumbers  ever  since  she  was  a  cradled 
babe. 

Slic  rose  at  last  to  get  her  father  his  beaten-up  e^^, 
Wendela  Rexelaer  was  a  thoroughly  incompetent  house- 
keeper, and  naturally  hated  both  her  incompetency  and  its 
object.  She  stopped  to  inquire  at  the  Baron's  door,  almost 
hoping  that  he  would  refuse ;  the  mess  was  such  a  weari- 
ness to  make.     "  Oh  no,  I  don't  want  it,"  called  the  Baron's 


362  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

feeble  voice.  She  went  into  the  kitclien  and  dutifully  pre- 
pared it.     And  he  swallowed  it  without  complaint. 

In  a  few  days  the  Baron  knew  the  worst.  The  last  few 
thousand  florins  of  his  wife's  small  fortune  had  been  swept 
away.  He  looked  up  from  the  letter  at  Gustave,  who  had 
brought  it  and  who,  in  his  tutored  indiscretion,  was  linger- 
ing with  averted  eyes  over  a  distant  rearrangement  of 
chairs. 

"  Gustave,"  said  the  Baron,  "  come  here.  Ten  years  ago 
you  told  me  you  were  a  rich  man.     Are  you  still  ?  " 

"  Richer,  Mynheer,"  replied  Gustave  promptly.  "  I 
can't  leave  ofiE;  for  nobody  can.  It's  like  sliding  down  a 
hill-side  into  the  valley  of  perdition.  I'm  winning  your 
Nobleness's  money  still." 

"I  give  you  my  word  I  had  not  speculated  all  these 
years,"  said  the  Baron  hastily.  "  But  you're  right.  It's 
gone.  "We  are  penniless.  And  " — his  eyelids  trembled  ;  he 
stammered  painfully — "  I  want  you  to  lend  me  a  little 
money — now.'''' 

For  only  reply  the  servant  ran  to  the  door.  "  Listen. 
Let  me  explain  I "  cried  the  Baron  after  him,  desirous  to 
tell  about  the  Lady's  Dole. 

"  Just  one  moment  while  I  fetch  it,  sir,"  said  Gustave, 
on  the  threshold. 

"  God  foi'give  me,"  cried  the  Baron.  "  There  are  good 
men  yet ! "  and  his  voice  failed  him.  Gustave,  meanwhile, 
who  knew  all  about  the  Lady's  Dole,  had  evidently  made 
up  his  mind  that  the  whole  of  his  little  fortune  would  just 
do  to  replace  it.  But  he  would  not  have  presumed  a  second 
time  to  offer  any  suggestions  thereanent. 

"  I  only  want  a  little  at  first,  a  very  little,"  said  the 
Baron  presently,  "  just  at  first.  "When  I  get  stronger  I  can 
do  something,  I  dare  say,  and  the  Freule  has  a  very  fine 
voice.  I  should  prefer  to  go  to  a  large  city.  Your  sister  in 
Amsterdam  who  takes  lodgers,  perhaps  we  might  go  to 
her?" 


NEW  SCENES  AND  OLD  FACES.  363 

The  servant  had  the  delicacy  to  keep  back  the  rush  of 
imploring  protest  which  rose  to  his  lips.  "  Amsterdam  will 
be  brighter  for  your  Nobleness  than  Deynum,"  he  said, 
"  and  for  the  Freule  also.  My  sister  will  be  proud.  And 
you  can  always  return  later  on." 

"  Never,"  replied  the  Baron.  "  Not  even  to  be  buried 
here  I "  And  he  broke  down  utterly  and  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands. 

After  a  moment  of  hesitation  Gustave  slipped  away  with- 
out leave.  "  I  wonder  whether  I  did  right,"  he  debated 
with  himself  in  the  hall.  "  It  looked  almost  more  like  a 
liberty  to  stay." 

On  the  evening  of  their  departure  the  Baron  handed 
over  to  Gustave  a  correct  I.O.U.  for  a  fraction  of  the  latter's 
savings,  promising,  with  restless  reiteration,  punctually  to 
repay.  The  valet  carefully  buttoned  up  the  precious  paper 
in  his  pocket-book,  and  subsequently,  emboldened  by  a 
couple  of  parting  glasses  at  Job  Hennik's,  he  as  cautiously 
tore  it  up,  lest  his  heirs  should  at  any  time  discover  and  en- 
force it. 

So  the  family  arrived  in  Amsterdam  on  a  windy  March 
night,  and  drove  to  Juffrouw  Donders's  lodging-house. 
This  house  stands — or  stood — on  a  narrow  canal  in  one  of 
the  humbler,  middle-class  parts  of  the  city ;  the  frowning 
houses  look  very  forbidding;  on  both  sides  the  stagnant 
water  froths  with  garbage  and  weeds.  But  Wendela  could 
see  nothing  of  this,  as  she  found  herself  blown,  amid  a 
whirl  of  sleet  and  general  rawness,  into  a  low,  white-tiled 
passage,  illumined  by  a  far-away  paraflfin-lamp.  The  others 
were  still  busy  with  the  Baroness ;  stout  Juffrouw  Donders 
came  rolling  forward  and  immediately  overflowed.  She 
was  all  abundancy  and  redundancy,  all  double-chin  and 
shaking  jaw.  You  fled  away  with  the  impression  that 
there  was  too  much  of  her,  bodily,  mentally,  and  especially 


364  THE   GREATKR   GLORY. 

orall}'.  But,  ouce  out  of  reach  of  her  shapeless  good-iiuture, 
you  looked  back  with  regret. 

"  And  this  is  the  Freule  van  Rexelaer !  "  she  began,  with 
perceptible  promise  of  very  much  more.  "Oh,  Ereule,  I 
seem  to  have  known  you  from  a  child,  so  much  have  I 
heard  of  you,  and  your  dear  honoured  parents  !  Everyone 
in  this  household  knows  everything  about  them !  It  will 
not  be  like  coming  among  strangers  to  find  yourselves  in 
our  midst ! " 

"  They  are  bringing  in  my  mother,"  said  Wendela.  "  We 
should  like  to  go  to  our  own  rooms  at  once,  if  you  please." 

"  And  so  you  sball,  my  dear  Freule,"  replied  the  land- 
lady with  prominent  sympathy,  lumbering  slowly  to  the 
front-door,  meanwhile.  She  was  not  to  be  cheated  of  her 
welcome  to  the  Baroness.  She  knew  what  was  due  to 
gentlefolks,  as  well  as  Gustave  did. 

Fortunately  for  the  family  from  Deynum,  she  stood 
greatly  in  awe  of  her  brother,  who  had  often  afforded  her 
substantial  support.  During  the  first  few  days  of  their  stay 
among  these  uncongenial  surroundings,  the  old  servant 
stood  on  guard  twixt  his  masters  and  the  world,  warding  off 
JufErouw  Donders's  exuberant  kindliness.  The  Baron 
seemed  not  ill-content.  "  This  time,  thank  Heaven,  there 
are  no  debts,"  he  said.  "  And  here  I  trust  we  shall  live 
and  die  in  peace." 

Wendela  looked  away  in  silence.  The  house  was  dark, 
with  the  darkness  of  a  great  city's  evil  heart.  It  was  stuffy. 
If  you  lifted  the  sash,  the  smell  from  tlie  canal  came  stream- 
ing in.  "  A  healthful  smell,"  said  Juffrouw  Bonders. 
"  Just  see  what  it  has  made  of  me  !  "  Gustave  having  de- 
parted to  look  after  the  sale  of  the  furniture,  the  good 
woman  fell  on  Wendela,  like  a  feather-bed,  with  endless 
laudation  of  her  brother  and  disparagement  of  her  departed 
husband.  The  birth  of  the  one  and  the  death  of  the  other 
she  considered  the  two  chief  blessings  of  her  life.  She  had 
had  a  hard  time  of  it  with  manv  mouths  to  fill.     "  Yet  mv 


NEW  SCENES   AND   OLD   FACES.  365 

Own  was  never  empty,"  she  said,  with  a  pat  on  her  portly 
frame  "  though  God  knows  I  filled  it  last." 

"  Life  is  hideous,"  said  Wendela  more  resolutely  than 
ever,  and  she  buried  herself  in  the  glorious  past.  She 
would  draw  her  chair  beside  her  mother's  and  ask  for  the 
tales  she  had  heard  as  a  child.  "  Wanda,  "Wanda,"  the 
Baroness  murmured  in  gentle  reproof,  "  Heaven  alone  is 
steadfast.  The  pomps  and  vanities  fade  away."  "  I  know 
that,"  said  Wendela  bitterly. 

Yet  the  lodging-house  was  not  all  noisy  loneliness  to  the 
country-girl.  A  day  or  two  after  her  arrival,  as  she  was 
coming  down-stairs  earlier  than  usual,  she  met  a  young  man 
who  shrank  aside  with  unwilling  mien.  The  light  from  a 
little  dusty  window  fell  full  upon  his  face  ;  his  eyes  were 
irresistibly  drawn  towards  hers,  and  as  his  blush  deepened  to 
the  old  familiar  apple-red,  she  recognised  him.  "  Piet ! " 
cried  impetuous  Wanda.  Then  she  stammered :  "  I  beg 
your  pardon.  I  thought  you  were  someone  else,"  and  stuck 
fast. 

"  I  am  Piet,"  said  the  young  man.  "  I  am  glad  you  re- 
cognised me,  Freule." 

She  leant  up  against  the  banisters,  and  it  amused  him  to 
see  how  little  changed  her  manner  was.  "  However  came 
you  here  ? "  she  said.  "  I  shall  want  you  to  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

There  was  not  very  much  to  tell.  Having  made  his  way 
to  the  capital,  with  the  intention  of  "  going  to  sea,"  he  had 
met  with  good  people  who  had  kept  him  as  their  errand- 
boy.  One  day  he  had  run  up  against  Gustave,  who  was  liv- 
ing with  Juffrouw  Donders,  during  the  Baron's  absence  at 
Cleves,  and  Gustave  had  procured  him  a  garret  in  the  lodg- 
ing-house. "  And  here  I  have  been  ever  since,"  concluded 
Piet,  "  and  wasn't  it  good  of  him  to  look  after  me, 
Freule?" 

"  But  why  didn't  he  tell  us?"  questioned  Wendela,  be- 
wildered.    "And  oh,  your  mother,  Piet !  " 


366  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

"  Mother  knows  I'm  doing  well.  She  don't  know  any 
more.  I  can't  help  it,"  Piet  went  on  doggedly.  "  Myn- 
heer Gustave  agreed  with  me.  It's  all  father's  fault.  You 
know  all  about  father,  Freule." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Wendela  gravely.  "  But  I  thought 
that  we  all  should  be  subject  to  our  parents."  She  greatly 
admired  herself  for  the  propriety  of  this  sentiment.  She 
also  admired  herself  for  the  faithfulness  with  which  she 
practised  it. 

He  looked  grieved  but  not  convinced.  "  I'm  doing 
well,"  he  said  in  self-defence.  "  Better  than  I  should  have 
done  at  home,  though  I've  not  made  the  fortune  I  had 
hoped  to  make.     I  am  clerk  to  a  solicitor,  Freule." 

She  said  she  was  very  glad  to  hear  it.  He  must  come 
and  see  her  father.  And  she  continued  her  way,  confused 
by  the  strangeness  of  this  meeting.  "  He  is  just  like  a 
hundred  other  clerks,"  she  told  herself,  but  in  her  heart  she 
thought  this  handsome,  well-grown  youth  as  superior  to 
other  clerks  as  her  boy-lover  had  been  superior  to  other 
peasant-boys.     "  He  is  just  Piet,"  she  said. 

"  A  solicitor,"  said  the  Baron  anxiously,  "  is  the  very 
person  I  am  most  desirous  to  meet,  but  one  fights  shy  of 
them,  especially  after  knowing  Strum." 

Piet  Poster  appeared  before  the  Baron  and  Baroness. 
His  manner  was  that  of  a  page  in  the  presence  of  his  lieges. 

"  And  what  is  the  name  of  your  solicitor,  Piet  ?  " 

"  Mynheer  Spangenberg,  landheer.  Everybody  says  he's 
amazingly  clever." 

"  So  much  the  better.     And  where  does  he  live  ?  " 

"  He  has  his  office  on  the  Prinsengracht,  landheer." 

"  I  want  you  to  ask  him  when  he  can  receive  me." 
Wendela  looked  up  in  protest.  "  Yes,  my  dear,  yes ;  I  can 
go  in  a  cab." 

"  0  Lamb  of  God,  that  takest  away  the  sins  of  the 
world,"  repeated  the  Baroness  with  her  back  to  the  others. 

"  There's  only  one  thing,  landheer,"  began  Piet,  awk- 


NEW  SCENES  AND  OLD  FACES.  367 

wardly  fingering  his  pot-hat.  "  Master's  a  very  great  radi- 
cal.    One  of  the  extreme  Left,  he  calls  it." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  Baron.  Then  he  added,  after  a  thought- 
ful pause,  "  I  dare  say  there  are  honest  men  among  them." 

"  And  you,  are  you  of  the  extreme  Left  ? "  asked 
Wendela,  with  laughing  eyes. 

"  I  am  a  clerk,  Freule,"  he  replied  quickly. 

"  Hush,  Wendela.  Please,  if  possible,  make  an  early 
appointment  for  me  with  your  employer,  Piet." 

Wendela  followed  the  young  man  into  the  passage. 
"  You  must  no  longer  call  my  father  '  landheer,'  "  she  said. 

"  Oh  but,  Freule,  I  can  hardly  help  it." 

"  You  must  help  it.  The  landheer  out  yonder,  forsooth, 
is  Count  Kexelaer ! "  She  stamped  her  foot  aiid  then, 
ashamed  of  this  ebullition,  retreated  hastily  to  the  sitting- 
room.  Juffrouw  Donders's  voice  was  heard  downstairs, 
soundly  rating  the  maid  of  all  work. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

LITTLE    PARADISE. 

"Another  poem  from  Volkert,"  said  Spangenberg,  ad- 
vocate and  editor,  tentatively  dangling  the  manuscript  in 
question  over  the  editorial  waste-paper  basket. 

"  And  who  is  Volkert  ? "  a^ked  the  editor's  compan- 
ion, an  untidy  old  man  with  a  peaked  beard,  like  a 
goat's. 

"  Your  question  proves  what  no  longer  wanted  proving," 
replied  Piet  Poster's  master,  laughing,  "  namely,  that  you 
poets  recognize  no  contemporary  colleagues.  This  Volkert 
is  a  mysterious  young  gentleman  at  the  Hague,  of  perfect 
manners — he  has  been  here  once  or  twice — and  evidently  of 
gentle  birth.  He  is  also  a  Priest  and  Proj)het  of  the  Peo- 
ple, but  then  all  the  great  poets  are  that  nowadays." 

"/  take  no  interest  in  the  lower  classes,  and  you  know 
it,"  replied  the  other,  leisurely  warming  his  knees.  "  Odi 
profanum  vulgus,  et  arceo." 

"  I  forgot,"  said  the  young  editor  carelessly.  "  Volkert 
does,  a  poetical  one.  He  signs  his  contributions  to  my 
'  Cry  of  the  People  '  with  a  single  enigmatical  P.  By-the- 
bye,  that  might  stand  for  '  Profanus.'  Now  what  shall  I  do 
with  his  latest  ?  The  basket  or  the  bays  ?  Surely  an  edi- 
tor's responsibility  is  unique  under  heaven  !" 

"  Let  me  judge  it,"  proposed  the  untidy  man,  senten- 
tiously,  and  he  took  up  the  paper.  In  a  very  short  time  he 
laid  it  down  again.  "  Nicht  einem  jeden  ward  des  Sanger's 
Kunst  gegeben,"  he  said. 


LITTLE   PARADISE.  .  369 

Spangenberg's  honest  face  twitched  with  sudden  resent- 
ment.    "  I  shall  put  it  in,"  he  declared  coolly. 

The  poet  rose,  majestically  gathering  his  dressing-gown 
about  him.  "  You  should  not  have  asked  my  opinion, 
Christian ! "  he  said  with  suj^erb  unreason,  and  stalked  to- 
wards the  door. 

"  No,  but,  look  here.  Mynheer  Morel !  "  cried  the  good- 
natured  editor.  "This  is  really  fine;  just  listen!  One 
would  like  its  author  to  proclaim  it  in  the  '  salons  '  of  the 
Hague  !  "     But  the  other  was  gone. 

The  office  of  "  The  Cry  of  the  People  "  was  situated  at 
that  time  in  a  little  court  just  off  the  public  thoroughfare. 
Since  then  it  has  been  removed  to  more  commodious  quar- 
ters, but  Spangenberg  is  still  editor  of  the  paper,  Spangen- 
berg  the  Socialist.  Yes,  he  is  a  clever  man,  unfortunately. 
But  Piet  Poster  was  mistaken  in  vaunting  the  extent  of 
his  law-practice.  People  who  employ  lawyers  possess  prop- 
erty, and  only  a  poor  man  makes  money  out  of  an  "  ism." 

The  name  of  the  court  was  "  Little  Paradise."  Hyper- 
bolic that  name  may  have  been,  but  we  know  so  little  of 
Paradise.  It  is  long  since  our  ancestors  lived  there,  and 
families  which  have  "  known  better  days  "  are  too  apt  to 
exaggerate.  Present  Paradises  go  by  comparison.  The 
street  was  very  narrow,  very  noisy,  very  dirty,  and  redolent 
of  all  the  vegetable  produce  of  Jewry,  "  given  away,"  from 
slow  hand-carts  to  thanklessly  haggling  Gentiles  by  hook- 
nosed, rag-bedecked  benefactors.  All  day  long  the  street 
was  a  babel  of  cucumbers  and  oranges.  You  were  glad  to 
escape  from  that  bawling,  brawling  crowd,  through  a  neat 
brick  archway  with  a  cheerfully  grinning  Death's  head  over 
it,  into  a  little  square  of  houses  round  a  grass-plot  and  a 
central  bed  of  roses.  Mevrouw  Morel  had  begged  the  roses 
from  Juffrouw  Spangenberg. 

The  whole  place  belonged  to  Christian  Spangenberg's 
parents,  who  lived  in  the  substantial  house  alongside  the 


370  •        THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

archway;  in  fact,  they  had  turned  tlieir  unprofitable  garden 
into  an  Eden  of  rent-producing  bricks.  Their  back- win- 
dows looked  out  on  the  cottage-like  buildings,  which  were 
low,  like  the  rents,  so  that  Heaven  appeared  nearer  in  the 
trim  little  court  than  in  the  tall,  loud  street,  outside.  The 
distant,  deadened  yell  of  "  Cheap  !  Dirt  cheap !  "  only 
beautified  the  silence,  and  Mrs.  Spangenberg  would  let  the 
children  play  upon  the  grass-plot,  when  Spangenberg  was 
out.  And  children,  romping  on  a  grass-plot,  will  laugh 
and  shout,  even  in  the  Jew-quarter  of  Amsterdam. 

Mevrouw  Morel  "  thanked  her  Maker  "  for  bringing  her 
here.  But,  then,  she  was  a  thankful  soul.  She  "  thanked 
her  Maker  "  constantly,  and  also  "  her  stars,"  and  "  good- 
ness," and  even  "  herself,"  so  there  may  not  have  been 
much  in  the  gratitude  she  scattered  so  freely.  She  knew " 
well  enough  what  she  meant  when  she  thanked  Mrs. 
Spangenberg.  She  meant  eggs  for  the  ailing,  cakes  for  the 
diligent,  kindness  for  all.  There  were  nine  Morels,  includ- 
ing parents,  in  one  of  the  cottages,  whom  Spangenberg 
would  never  have  accepted  as  tenants — only  think  of  the 
woodwork  ! — but  for  Mrs.  Spangenberg's  broad  admiration 
of  the  "  dear  little  golden-haired,  pale  little  dears." 

Not  that  Spangenberg  was  by  any  means  a  hard-hearted 
man.  He  was  a  contractor ;  I  do  not  know  what  he  con- 
tracted in  the  course  of  his  money-making  except  a  gruff 
manner,  but  it  certainly  was  not  his  heart.  He  made  money, 
and  his  wife  liked  that,  and  they  enjoyed  it  together  in  a  solid, 
substantial,  middle-class  way  ;  they  had  been  poor  together 
once.  They  sent  their  clever  only  son,  who  was  always  "  want- 
ing to  know,"  to  the  Grammar  School  and  then  to  the  Uni- 
versity, but  when  even  this  latter  Babylonic  Tower  of 
Learning  (as  vast  and  as  confused)  still  failed  to  supply 
young  Christian's  need,  they  began  to  fear  that  he  wanted 
to  know  too  much.  There  had  been  a  daughter,  much 
older  than  the  late-born  darling,  who  had  married  "  against 
them,"  as  they  called  it,  and,  sailing  to  the  Indies  with  her 


LITTLE   PARADISE.  371 

husband,  liad  dropped  out  of  their  lives.  Henceforward 
Mrs.  Spangenberg  had  a  fretful  dread  of  "  thwarting," 
which  maintained  itself  even  when  Christian  (?et  20)  be- 
gan to  rant  about  the  Eights  of  Man  !  "  Don't  put  his 
back  up,  John,"  she  constantly  pleaded.  "  If  we'd  let 
Jacoba  see  more  of  her  Arthur,  perhaps  she'd  have  found 
out  what  a  duffer  he  was."  The  father  unwillingly  ac- 
quiesced, partly  because  of  a  manner  young  Hopeful  had  of 
throwing  back  his  head  as  soon  as  the  "thwarting"  began. 
The  worst  blow  befell  the  old  man  when  his  go-ahead  son 
deliberately  plunged  into  the  sea  of  social  miseries  and 
thence  sent  up  his  "  Cry  of  the  People."  The  young  advo- 
cate called  himself  a  socialist,  because  with  that  party  alone 
he  found  sympathy,  political,  with  suffering.  In  reality  he 
was  one  of  the  few  whose  pulses  beat  quicker  when  they 
hear  of  injustice — to  others.  His  gorge  rose  against  incom- 
petent nepotism  and  pampered  monopoly,  against  the  sweat- 
ing of  women  and  the  torture  of  children,  things  we  all  dis- 
approve of  theoretically,  in  our  slippers  by  the  fire.  But 
Christian  Spangenberg  was  an  incipient  Dutch  Kingsley, 
with  the  poetry  left  out.  He  started  a  people's  Mission  and 
Social  Club  in  the  wretched  quarter  near  his  own  respect- 
able home.  Furthermore  he  edited  the  "  Cry  of  the  Peo- 
ple," thereby  stamping  himself  a  "  Socialist "  at  once. 

And  his  unfortunate  father  possessed  money  in  tlie 
funds.  The  mother — desperate  with  the  horror  of  a  child- 
less old  age — flung  her  love  between  these  combative  ele- 
ments and  effected  an  armistice.  Christian  was  to  remain 
in  the  house  and  continue  his  law  business.  But  his  social- 
ism must  be  banished  to  one  of  the  cottages  in  Paradise 
Court,  there  to  be  left  under  lock  and  key  when  he  rose  to 
go  home.  The  "  Cry  of  the  People "  was  never  heard 
within  Spangenberg  Senior's  doors.  All  the  relations  and 
connections,  hard-working,  hard-fisted  burghers,  looked  on 
Christian  as  crazy.  The  chamber-cloaked  father  sat  over 
his  strong-box  of  evenings  in  property-laden  snugness ;  the 
26 


372  TDE   GREATER  GLORY. 

eagle-faced  son  trod  the  boards  of  his  Office  at  the  back,  de- 
nouncing the  "  gilded  obesity  of  the  bourgeois."  And  when 
they  met  at  supper,  sincerely  affectionate,  they  got  on  very 
well. 

It  was  Mevrouw  Morel's  birthday,  the  greatest  event  of 
the  year  in  Little  Paradise,  far  greater  even  than  Juffrouw 
Spangenberg's.  For,  if  this  latter  good-  and  heavy-natured 
body  was  the  Lady  of  the  Garden,  bright,  clever  little  Mrs. 
Morel  was  its  Guardian  Angel. 

In  the  morning — "  at  dawn  of  day,"  said  the  poet — the 
seven  children,  six  of  whom  had  spent  the  night  packed, 
like  sardines,  in  boxes,  gathered  outside  their  parents'  bed- 
room, the  baby  having  been  fetched  out  previously,  to  com- 
plete the  surprise,  while  mother  pretended  to  be  asleep. 
And  a  surprise  it  was — as  it  had  been  for  the  last  half-a- 
dozen  years — when  the  whole  lot  of  them,  led  by  the  baby, 
struck  up  an  Ode  to  the  Day.  She  came  hurrying  out  and 
stood  in  the  doorway,  smiling  upon  them  with  the  comeli- 
est  of  faces,  in  her  night-cap  and  woollen  shawl,  this  mother 
of  seven  and  an  eighth  baby  coming,  and  she  kissed  them 
all  round,  on  both  cheeks,  when  the  song  was  completed, 
and  then  had  to  kiss  them  again,  because  she  had  surrepti- 
tiously given  Peterkin,  the  lame  one,  an  extra  hug  and  the 
others  had  seen  it.  Only  her  husband  hung  back,  just  a 
little  ashamed.  "  It  wasn't  my  own,"  he  said  with  some 
hesitation;  "  I  had  not  time  to  complete  it.  Xext  year,  if 
I  am  spared,  they  shall  sing  you  my  own." 

"  I  know,  dearest,"  she  said,  "  I  recognised  it.  It  was 
Pottema's.  Yes,  next  year,  please  God  ;  and  then  it  will  be 
the  finest  ode  that  ever  poet  sang." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  he  questioned  dubiously.  "I  tore 
up  what  I  had  done.  Pottema's  poetry  has  faults,  but,  on 
the  whole,  it  is  not  undeserving." 

She  sighed  a  little  passing  sigh.  Lina,  fifteen  and  her 
mother's  right  hand,  had  been  a  little  toddling  thing  when 


LITTLE  PARADISE.  373 

Homerus  had  first  spoken  of  that  ode  to  his  wife.  "  She 
will  not  be  able  to  repeat  it,  dear,"  the  mother  had  said. 

But  the  poem  was  not  yet  ready ;  none  of  Homerus's 
poems  ever  were.  "  Not  for  want  of  the  power,"  said  his 
wife,  and  perhaps  she  was  right.  Homerus  Morel  was  a 
seer  of  visions  and  a  dreamer  of  beautiful  dreams,  his  vast 
brow  bursting  with  ideas,  all  in  motion  for  an  exit,  like 
gases,  a  man  full  of  thought,  and  yet  often  incaj^able  of 
thinking.  His  father,  an  indolent  scholar  and  gentleman, 
had  given  him  a  luxurious  education,  while  spending  the 
boy's  small  inherited  fortune ;  in  those  days  Homerus  had 
only  been  Hendrik,  the  change  was  a  late  inspiration  of  his 
own.  He  believed  himself  the  one  supreme  poet  of  his 
epoch,  but  he  suffered  from  terrible  sjiasms  of  doubt.  With 
an  artist's  perception  of  the  greatness  beyond  him,  he  would 
suddenly  tear  up  whatever  he  had  written,  and  sob  out  his 
weakness  on  the  breast  of  his  faithful  spouse.  And  that 
lady  would  comfort  him  and  send  him  for  a  walk  in  the 
Court.  Once  there,  he  could  trudge  round  the  grass-plot 
for  hours,  his  lank  body  drooping  forward  beneath  his 
knotted  hands,  his  balloon-shaped  head  uplifted,  with  its 
pointed  nose  and  beard.  "  There  goes  the  poet,"  said  some 
busy  neighbour,  at  her  lattice,  "  then  it  can't  be  twelve 
o'clock." 

For  punctually  at  noon  Mevrouw  Morel  would  call : 
"  Homerus,  come  to  dinner  !  "  She  never  bade  him  come 
and  hold  the  baby,  even  when  her  own  three  hands  were 
more  than  full. 

She  must  have  had  at  least  three  hands,  for  she  looked 
after  all  the  children,  including  this  year's  and  last  year's 
baby,  and  she  even  found  time  to  have  a  girl-help  and  look 
after  her.  Moreover  slic  looked  aftiM-  her  husband  and  kept 
him  as  comfortable,  though  she  could  not  keep  him  as  tidy, 
as  the  rest.  Incidentally  she  also  supported  the  family,  while 
the  poetry  was  getting  ready  which  was  one  day  to  enrich 
it.     The  whole  lot  of  them  believed  in  this  beautiful  con- 


374  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

summation,  even  the  smallest,  who,  having  no  inkling  what 
poetry  was,  were  certainly  least  to  blame.  Father  was  their 
gold-mine  ;  some  day  he  would  be  famous,  and  then  there 
would  always  be  plenty  to  eat.  They  nudged  each  other, 
at  their  play,  suddenly  hushed  by  the  sight  of  the  poet  at 
his  desk.  "  What  is  riches,  mother?  Only  money?"  little 
Homer,  his  father's  namesake,  had  asked  one  day.  The 
parents  looked  at  each  other,  struck  to  the  soul.  Mevrouw 
Morel  had  been  down-hearted  that  morning,  and  had 
grumbled  somewhat.  She  kissed  both  Homers  for  only 
reply. 

The  mother  supported  her  family  by  writing  children's 
gift-books  to  order,  the  order  mostly  including  the  moral  of 
the  tale  :  "  To  illustrate  the  evils  of  greediness,  about  15,- 
000  words.  Little  girl  must  have  curly  hair,  and  greengage 
jam  must  be  medium  of  punishment,  as  per  picture.  Eeady 
by  15th  of  next  month."  It  was  easy,  and  not  unprofitable, 
if  only  you  wrote  two  stories  a  month. 

The  little  woman's  deepest  depth  of  soul,  however,  was 
not  centred  in  her  tale-concocting  nor  even  in  her  house- 
keeping ;  those  leisure  moments  which  she  had  in  common 
with  all  intensely  busy  people  she  devotod  to  the  composi- 
tion of  a  many-volumed  work  on  "  The  Social  Position  of 
the  Child  in  the  Development  of  European  Civilisation." 
For  she  had  been  great  since  her  childhood  in  the  science 
of  sociology,  of  which  her  father  had  been  professor  and  she 
his  favourite  pupil.  He?'  book  will  be  finished  some  day, 
you  may  be  sure.  "  Scientific  works  do  not  sell,"  she  would 
say  to  her  husband.  "Not  like  poetry,  first-rate  poetry,  of 
course.  Not  as  yours  will."  She  apologised  for  her  hobby. 
Other  luxuries  she  had  none. 

"  Good  morning.  Mother ;  many  happy  returns  of  the 
day,"  said  young  Spangenberg,  looking  in  on  ^Nlevrouw 
Morel.  "  I  couldn't  come  sooner,  being  detained  by  law- 
business  on  the  Prinsengracht." 


LITTLE   PARADISE.  375 

"  You  mustn't  call  me  '  mother '  any  more,  Christian,  as 
I  told  you  last  birthday.  I  am  getting  too  old  to  be  pleased 
with  a  grown-up  son." 

"  You  old ! "  the  young  advocate  laughed  merril)^ 
"  Your  youth  is  as  perennial  as  the  Child's  of  which  you 
write.     What  says  baby?     Grandma?  " 

She  joined  in  his  laugh,  as  she  bustled  about  among  her 
dinner-things. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask,"  Christian  Spangenberg  went  on, 
"  would  you  let  me  bring  Volkert  this  evening  ? — I  have 
spoken  of  him  recently — you  remember — the  poet  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  may  bring  him  of  course.  But  is  he  one  of 
your  Socialists,  Christian?  Because,  you  know,  I  do  not 
believe  in  your  Socialists." 

"  Nor  I  in  sociology,  Mevrouw,  you  remember.  Good- 
bye, then,  and  thanks,  till  to-night." 

"  That  boy  does  too  much,"  remarked  Mevrouw  Morel, 
hurrying  from  the  table  to  the  oven. 

"  A  man  cannot  do  too  much,"  said  the  poet,  from  his 
arm-chair  by  the  fire. 

"  But  he  can  do  too  many  things  at  a  time,"  protested 
the  housewife,  who  mostly  did  three. 

"  True ;  he  should  give  his  whole  mind  to  one,"  re- 
sponded Homerus,  "would  he  excel." 


CHAPTER   LII. 

YOLKERT. 

Spangexbehg  rushed  on  to  liis  office — his  editorial 
office.  "  Anyone  been,  AVonnema  ?  "  he  asked  of  the  single 
clerk. 

"  Only  a  man  with  some  copy.  Mynheer  Volkert's  up- 
stairs." The  clerk,  a  meagre-looking  individual  with  ever- 
lastingly hungry  eyes,  handed  a  packet  across  to  his  "  chief." 

"  All  right.  You  can  go  and  have  dinner."  Spangen- 
berg  ran  up  to  his  den.  "  Hallo,"  he  cried  on  entering. 
"  Glad  you  managed  to  come.     Doing  nothing,  as  usual?" 

"  I  was  thinking,"  re2)lied  the  individual  thus  addressed, 
without  altering  his  lazy  position  by  the  stove. 

"  That  need  not  have  prevented  your  keeping  up  the 
fire.  Or  supposing  you  had  looked  through  this  stupid  pile 
of  newspapers — but  that  was  expecting  too  much." 

"  True,"  said  the  other.  "  Don't  bully  me.  You  know 
I've  no  head  for  practical  politics." 

"  Practical  politics  unfortunately  have  but  little  to  do 
with  the  '  Cry,'  "  muttered  the  young  editor,  pausing,  with 
a  very  satirical  grin,  by  his  over-loaded  desk. 

"  But  look  here,"  began  Yolkert  suddenly,  "  I  really  had 
something  to  occupy  me.  I  found  this  on  coming  in." 
He  flung  across  a  paper  to  his  friend. 

It  contained  these  few  words  in  a  firm  feminine  hand  : 

"  Your  poem  last  week  was  noble  and  true.  Go  on  ;  you 
are  doing  a  great  work." 

Spangenberg  turned  the  paper  round,  then  he  looked 


VOLKERT.  377 

hesitatingly  into  Volkert's  handsome  expectant  face,  and 
burst  into  a  shout  of  laughter. 

"  Of  course  she  is  young  ! "  he  cried,  "  and  very  beautiful. 
I  don't  wonder  yon  are  charmed." 

"  I  don't  care  about  that,"  replied  the  poet  earnestly. 
"  I  have  touched  a  human  heart." 

"  Can  yon  pardon  me,  if  I  inquire  what  particular  verses 
the  lady  is  alluding  to?  She  has  taken  her  time  about 
writing,  and  I  grieve  to  say  I  forget." 

"  It's  the  one  called  '  Noble  Nobles,'  "  replied  Volkert, 
sullenly  staring  at  the  neglected  stove.  "  You  remember, 
the  one  beginning : 

"  '  They  are  not  noble  who  but  bear  the  name, 

While  deeds  and  words  a  bastard's  birth  proclaim  ; 
But  they  whose  heart  and  intellect  have  fed 
Upon  the  truths  for  which  their  fathers  bled.'  " 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Spangenberg.  "  And  do  you  know  ex- 
actly what  it  means  V  " 

"  Why  did  you  insert  it?  "  asked  the  poet  with  spirit. 

But  Christian,  his  eyes  upon  the  letter,  musingly  re- 
peated Volkert's  first  two  lines.  "  I  have  it,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  Some  poor  little  shop  girl  or  sempstress,  ruined  by  a  sprig 
of  the  aristocracy,  '  whose  words  and  deeds  a  bastard  hirth 
])roclaim.'  No2U  she  finds  out  he  won't  marry  her.  Poor 
little  creature  :  I  wish  I  could  help."  He  got  up  and  came 
and  stood  in  front  of  Volkert :  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  you  have 
beautiful  thoughts.  It  is  very  nice  and  pretty  to  have 
beautiful  thoughts." 

"  It's  not  that,"  replied  Volkert.  "  Here  is  a  human 
creature  whose  heart  I've  touched.  It's  a  wonderful  ex- 
perience. I  have  touched  some  grateful  stranger's  heart. 
I  never  felt  anything  like  it  before." 

"  It  is  grand,"  said  Christian,  solemnized  by  the  other's 
evident  emotion,  "  to  know  that  one  man  can  help  another 
by  something  else  besides  a  copper  tossed  in  the  dirt.     Did 


378  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

you  never  feel  that  before?  Gifted,  graceful,  graceless 
sleeper,  you  feel  it — do  you  ? — at  last  ?  " 

The  "  mysterious  young  gentleman  from  the  Hague " 
spread  a  pair  of  white  hands  towards  the  sooty  stove. 
"  I  suppose  I  had  not  your  opportunities,"  he  replied,  a  little 
moodily. 

"  The  more  you  feel  it  the  better,"  cried  his  youthful 
Mentor,  unheeding.  "  I  wish  I  could  trample  the  feeling 
deep  down  into  your  heart.  Don't  mind  me  or  the  mistakes  I 
am  making.  Go  down  on  your  knees  to  whatever  God  you 
believe  in  and  vow,  at  this  crisis  of  your  soul's  existence, 
never  to  let  the  new  feeling  slip  away.  Give  yourself  in  the 
future,  not  your  money  only,  not  only  your  beautiful 
thoughts.  Give  your  jjosition  which  I  believe  to  be  high  ; 
give  your  talents  which  I  know  to  be  great.  There  are  so 
few  of  us  who  think  as  you  do.  Give  yourself  in  the  fight 
against  oppression  and  injustice,  against  ignorance  and 
crime." 

"I  will,"  cried  the  other.  "I  have  always  wanted  to;  it 
sounds  so  beautiful.  But  I  am  waiting  for  my  opportunity; 
some  day  it  will  come  ! " 

"  Look  through  these  newspapers  then,"  replied  Chris- 
tian, pushing  forward  a  pile ;  "  mark  all  passages  alluding 
to  the  trial  of  the  boy  Smits  for  insulting  the  Minister  of 
Justice.  Poor  little  fellow  !  they  had  imprisoned  his  father 
for  speaking  the  truth.  There ;  that  will  do  for  to-day. 
To-morrow  will  take  care  of  itself."  The  poet  pulled  a 
face,  but  he  drew  up  his  chair  to  the  table  and  began  doing 
as  he  was  bid. 

Presently  Spangenberg  looked  up  from  his  own  work : 
"  For  doing  only  is  the  true  believing,"  he  quoted.  "  Some- 
body says  that ;  I  forget  who." 

"  Why,  it's  in  one  of  my  sonnets,"  said  Volkert.  "  You 
know  it  is." 

"  On  my  honour,  I  did  not.  Oh  you  poets,  you 
poets !  " 


VOLKERT.  379 

In  the  evening  the  two  men  met  again  at  Spangenberg's 
hiw-oflfice,  on  their  way  to  the  Morels'.  "  I  must  just  look 
in  at  the  '  Club,'  "  said  Christian,  as  they  emerged  ints  the 
street. 

The  "  Club,"  then  the  first  of  its  kind,  would  be  consid- 
ered a  poor  affair  nowadays.  It  stood  in  a  back  street  of 
one  of  the  humblest  parts  of  the  city ;  the  double  parlour 
downstairs  being  occupied  by  workmen  smoking  and 
drinking  beer  over  their  newspapers  or  chess-boards  ;  while 
in  one  of  the  upstairs  rooms  a  reading-class  was  going  on 
for  street-arabs  over  twelve.  Everybody  knew  Christian, 
the  founder  of  the  whole  concern,  and  several  men  expressed 
regret  that  to-night's  weekly  lecture  had  been  postponed. 
The  subject  was  announced  :  "  Why  and  how  must  we 
reach  the  North  Pole?"  Last  week's  had  been  "  The  Fol- 
lies of  the  Paris  Commune." 

Piet  Poster  was  the  teacher  of  the  upstairs  boys,  a 
disciplinarian  sturdily  jolly  and  strong.  As  the  young 
men  entered  his  class-room,  a  dirty  ragamuffin  came 
slouching  in  behind  them ;  the  poet  drew  hastily  aside. 
"  Coffee,"  called  out  Poster,  "  go  downstairs  again  im- 
mediately. You  know  you  mayn't  come  up  till  you're 
washed." 

The  boy  hesitated.  Spangenberg  turned  quickly:  "My 
dear  Volkert,"  he  said,  "  it's  late  already,  and  I  must  be 
busy  a  few  minutes  with  Poster.  Take  this  urchin  down- 
stairs— there's  a  good  fellow ! — and  wash  him." 

The  couple  departed — it  would  have  been  too  silly  to 
refuse.  As  they  wound  down  the  narrow  staircase,  Vol- 
kert, anxious  to  cover  his  embarrassment,  commenced  con- 
versation. 

"  Why  do  they  call  you  '  Coffee  '?"  he  asked. 

"  Because  of  what  came  off  when  I  washed  first,"  said 
the  boy. 

They  found  a  pantry  in  which  stood  several  tubs  of  tepid 
water,  under  a  fiaring  gas-light.     "  I  won't,"  said  the  boy, 


380  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

when  he  saw  them,  and  hung  up,  dogged  and  dishevelled, 
against  the  whitewashed  wall. 

The  young  dandy  opposite  twirled  his  cane  and  felt 
ashamed  of  his  orange  gloves.  He  resolved  to  try  argu- 
ment :  "  Why  not  ?  "  he  said,  persuasively. 

"  'Cos  it  makes  one  feel  cold,"  replied  Coffee. 

"  But  then  you  can't  go  upstairs  again.  Don't  you  want 
to  learn  to  read  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  shall  too,"  said  Coffee.  He  stared  intensely. 
He  was  lost  in  contemplation  of  the  gentleman's  gold  chain. 
The  Lover  of  all  Mankind  grew  weaker  than  water  before 
this  refractory  brother,  but  vanity  recoiled  from  an  un- 
washed return  to  the  class-room.  "  Look  here,"  he  said, 
"  I'll  give  you  this  silver  florin,  if  you'll  clean  your  face  and 
hands."  The  effect  Avas  instantaneous.  "  You  needn't 
mention  the  florin,"  said  Volkert,  as  they  wended  their  way 
upstairs  again.  But  at  the  door  he  halted,  ashamed.  "  Say 
what  you  like,"  he  whispered.  A  cheer  greeted  the  van- 
quished Coffee,  who  stole  silently  to  a  seat.  "  I  congratulate 
you.  Mynheer,"  said  Piet  in  an  eager  aside  to  the  visitor. 
"  For  days  I  have  been  regretfully  sending  that  boy  away. 
You  manage  them  better  than  L"  Volkert  coloured.  "  I 
gave  him  a  florin  to  do  it,"  he  said. 

Mevrouw  Morel's  frequent  evening-parties  would  have 
delighted  William  Wordsworth,  for  their  material  pleasures 
were  "  j^lain,"  and  their  "  thinking  "  was  "  high."  This 
occasion  of  her  birthday,  however,  Avas  always  distinguished 
by  mixed  company,  and  drinks.  Spangenberg  Senior's  an- 
nual contribution  consisted  of  a  bowl  of  punch,  and  his  wife 
sent  a  cake  from  the  confectioner's  which  the  children  de- 
clared vastly  inferior  to  their  mother's  homemade. 

There  was  little  Miss  van  Dolder  in  her  grandmother's 
brooch  and  a  black  silk  which  might  also  have  been  her 
grandmother's.  Miss  van  Dolder  represented  Hereditary 
Wealth  in  Little  Paradise,  with  an  income,  from  somewhere 


VOLKERT.  381 

in  the  funds,  of  nearly  a  hundred  pounds.  She  had  seri- 
ously considered  the  duty  of  removing  when  the  "  Cry " 
first  arose  in  the  Court,  but  she  dreaded,  the  possible  dam- 
age to  her  grandmother's  inlaid  cabinet.  She  professed 
an  inherent  distaste  for  all  children  and  manifested  a 
consistent  affection  towards  the  seven  little  Morels.  And 
there  was  Balby,  the  poor  old  lodger  at  the  dressmaker's, 
Homerus's  especial  protege,  because  he  devoted  whatever 
remained  to  him  of  life  to  the  silent  accompaniment  of  the 
poet  on  his  interminable  walks  round  the  square.  Homerus 
discoursed  of  all  things  in  heaven  or  on  earth,  or  beneath 
the  abysses  of  the  sea ;  if  he  halted  for  breath,  his  compan- 
ion would  remark,  with  a  shake  of  the  head :  "  It  is  mar- 
vellous indeed "  or  "  It  sounds  quite  incredible,"  and  the 
poet  would  complacently  proceed.  One  day  he  had  been 
telling  how  a  famous  contemporary  had  acknowledged  his 
genius  :  "  And  what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  "  he  inquired. 
"It  sounds  quite  incredible,"  said  Balby,  meditatively  eying 
the  pump. 

And  there  were  the  parent  Spangenbergs,  upon  whose 
arrival  the  extra  candles  were  lighted.  Miss  van  Bolder  re- 
fiiained  anxiously  debating  with  herself  whether  she  had 
taken  offence  at  this  on  the  previous  occasion.  Spangen- 
berg,  on  his  part,  was  considering,  for  the  fiftieth  time,  if 
the  hostess  was  entitled  to  "  my  dear  "  the  wife  of  the  owner 
of  the  property.  Fortunately  Ilomerus  sat  oblivious  of 
these  doubts.  Was  it  not  "  Mevrouiu  Morel "  and  "  Jvf- 
frouio  Spangenberg "  ?  Only  a  Dutchwoman  can  fully 
fathom  that  distinction. 

Presently  Christian  put  in  his  head.  "  Good  evening, 
everybody.  Good  evening.  Miss  van  Dolder,"  he  said,  "  how 
solemn  you  all  look.  Might  I  ask  you  something,  Me- 
vrouw?" 

She  came  out  to  him  on  the  landing.  "  I  was  just  mix- 
ing the  punch,"  she  said  reproachfully. 

"  Oh,  it  can't  spoil  under  your  hands.     I've  got  Tipper, 


382  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

the  tailor-evangelist  I  was  telling  you  of.  May  I  bring  him 
up  as  well  as  Volkert?  He  isn't  as  tiresome  as  you'd 
think." 

"  But  what's  the  use  of  bringing  all  these  people  here, 
Christian?" 

"  Oh,  I  want  them  to  know  you.     It  does  them  good." 

"  True,"  said  the  little  lady  thoughtfully.  "  Any- 
one might  consider  it  a  privilege  to  listen  to  Mynheer 
Morel." 

"  Exactly,"  replied  Spangenberg,  bounding  downstairs. 

"  But  your  parents  will  object,"  she  hissed  over  the  ban- 
isters. 

"  They  always  do,"  sang  back  this  graceless  product  of 
parental  love. 

Volkert,  immediately  on  his  entrance,  held  all  the  ladies' 
hearts  in  the  hollow  of  his  unconscious  hand.  In  that 
humble  little  comjjany  he  shone  unassumingly,  like  a  still, 
white  star,  his  one  unattainable  desire  to  remain  unnoticed 
and  give  no  trouble.  Tipper  on  the  other  hand,  a  good 
young  man  and  first  cutter  to  a  tailoring  firm,  shrank  back, 
fussy  from  shyness  and  irregularly  assertive  on  principle. 
It  was  his  religious  belief  he  asserted,  not  himself. 

The  clock  ticked  slowly,  and  the  resjiectable  company 
sat  in  a  circle  of  boredom.  Juffrouw  Spangenberg  praised 
the  eldest  daughter,  Lina,  to  her  blushful  face,  causing  the 
damsel's  mother  to  wriggle  on  her  chair,  and  the  contractor 
tediously  told  a  lengthy  story,  which  everyone  had  read  the 
day  before  in  the  Amsterdam  Gazette,  about  an  Emir  of 
Blucherstan  (as  he  called  him)  who,  travelling  on  a  tour  of 
inspection  in  famine-stricken  provinces,  had  requisitioned 
provisions  from  the  starving  inhabitants  and  been  fed  upon 
roast  child  under  the  designation  of  veal.  The  little  hostess 
cast  terrified  glances  at  the  wall  behind  which  five  of  her 
own  offspring  were  sleeping ;  the  advocate  murmured  a 
"  pereant !  "  over  his  punch. 

"  It  was  one  of  that  family  that  conquered  Napoleon  ?  " 


VOLKERT.  383 

suggested  the  dressmaker's  lodger,  speaking  for  the  first 
time. 

"  Of  course,  Balby,"  replied  Christian  heartily  amid  the 
general  hesitation.  "  So  I  thought,"  said  the  lodger,  taking 
snuff. 

But  it  was  not  till  the  elder  Spangenbergs  had  departed, 
accompanied  by  Miss  van  Dolder  (in  a  flutter  of  irritable 
self-reproach  for  having  once  more  forgotten  to  rise  before 
the  contractor's  wife)  that  the  simple  enjoyment,  such  as  it 
was,  of  the  evening  began.  Half  a  dozen  men  drew  their 
chairs  round  the  bright  fire  and  the  plenteous  punch-bowl, 
and  little  Mrs.  Morel  sat  down  to  her  squeaky  piano  and 
played  them  Chopin.  Then  Spangenberg  sang  a  couple  of 
songs,  and  one  of  these  brought  a  thrilling  surprise  to  the 
stranger ;  the  words  were  his  own,  a  lament  from  the  "  Cry," 
set  to  music,  by  whom  ?  The  tears  stood  in  his  big  dark 
eyes.  "  Magnificent  eyes,"  whispered  the  little  musician  to 
Christian.  But  Christian  was  busy  proposing  her  health  in 
terms  of  abundant  laudation  and  trying  to  get  Tijjper,  the 
teetotaler,  to  drink  it  in  a  glass  of  the  golden  fluid.  Then 
a  silence  fell  upon  the  company  that  Mynheer  Morel — they 
all  called  him  "  Mynheer  " — might  have  his  share  of  the 
fun  and  orate,  which  he  did,  warmly  and  well. 

"  You  young  men  are  mistaken,  as  I  often  tell  Chris- 
tian," he  was  saying  to  the  new-comer,  "  in  striving  and 
straining,  for  a  millennium.  History  should  tell  you  that  a 
nation's  greatness,  like  an  individual's,  is  absolutely  depend- 
ent on  present  suffering  and  future  hope.  I  trust,  I  sin- 
cerely trust,  that  the  human  race  will  never  live  contented. 
Fortunately  there  is  now  less  chance  than  ever  of  that." 

"  The  people "  began  Spangenberg. 

"  Don't  interrupt  me,  Christian.  Pah,  tlie  folly  of  your 
talk.  You  are  shamed  by  the  Greeks  or  the  Jews,  who,  like 
you  disbelieving  in  a  future  life,  at  least  believed,  unlike 
you,  in  the  Joys  and  griefs  of  the  present.  Almost  I  would 
prefer  the  patient  Man  of  Sorrows,  with  his  glories  of  ad- 


384  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

vcrsit}'  and  his  '  yet  a  little  while.'  At  least,  experience  can 
never  disprove  bis  ideals,  as  it  speedily  will  yours.  And 
although  we  may  think  that  he  grossly  exaggerated  the 
ethical  value  of  suffering " 

The  quiet  tailor  stretched  his  arm  across  the  table  as  if 
warding  off  a  blow.  "  I  cannot  hear  my  Lord  and  Master 
spoken  of  like  that,"  he  said. 

Ilomerus  started,  uncertain  what  to  do,  and  turned  to 
Balby  to  hide  his  confusion. 

"  It  is  truly  marvellous,"  said  the  lodger,  waking  up. 

"  Well,  well,  I  am  doing  all  the  talking,"  continued 
Homerus,  "  which  is  uncivil  " — 0  sancta  simplicitas  ! — 
"  you  young  men  ought  to  furnish  me  with  novel  ideas.  I 
have  often  contemplated  writing  a  poem  on  '  The  Coming 
Creed.'  In  fact,  I  have  begun  one,  but  the  subject  is  mo- 
mentous." 

"  Surely  the  coming  Creed  will  be  Love,"  ventured  Vol- 
kert. 

"  Ah,  young  man  ;  that  is  no  novel  idea.  It  is  the  old 
one  which  each  good  man  newly  starts  with.  Have  you 
ever  heard,  you  youngsters,  of  the  love  which  speaks 
through  pain?  Love? — what  do  you,  what  do  I  know  of 
love  ?  Some  of  us,  the  best,  the  highest,  are  struggling  to 
read,  in  the  blinding  sunlight,  a  few  letters  of  that  sacred 
Name,  and  to  shout  them  down  to  the  chattering,  chaffer- 
ing masses  below.  These  are  the  poets,  the  prophets,  on 
the  uppermost  rungs  of  the  ladder.  One  of  them,  soaring 
beyond  the  power  of  eyes  to  follow,  has  cried  back  into  our 
darkness  :  '  God  is  Love  ! '  There  we  may  leave  it,  in  the 
inmost  heart  of  Heaven."  He  stopped  abruptly,  and  with 
a  hasty,  unconscious  fervour,  swept  his  long  hand  across  the 
tablecloth. 

Spangenberg  leaped  to  his  feet.  "  Eros !  Anikate 
Eros ! "  he  cried,  "  I  am  not  a  poet,  like  Mynheer  or  like 
Volkert ;  I  am  only  a  common -place  mortal,  but  my  heart 
sings  the  paeans  my  lips  are  unable  to  s^ieak.     AYhat  fitter 


VOLKERT.  385 

temple  than  this  to  recite  the  praise  of  the  Prince  who 
holds  rule  here,  a  merciful  tyrant?  Gentlemen,  hurrah  for 
Love  in  this  house,  where  he  gilds  every  day  with  his 
presence.  Hurrah  for  a  sun  that  ascends  through  the  years 
without  danger  of  setting.  Gentlemen,  I  fancy  I  am  talk- 
ing nonsense.  Hurrah  for  Mevrouw  Morel,  the  Queen  of 
Love  in  her  own  little  kingdom  !     Hurrah  !  " 

They  all  shouted  and  emptied  their  glasses,  and  soon 
after  that  the  little  party  broke  up.  Not,  however,  before 
Christian  had  told  Volkert  about  the  hostess's  wonderful 
work  on  the  "  Social  Position  of  the  Child." 

"  A  study  in  evolution,"  added  Mevrouw  Morel,  blush- 
ing. "  Thank  you.  Christian  ;  I  have  reached  the  Mero- 
vingian period.  I  should  progress  faster  but  that  I  so  seldom 
find  time  to  go  to  the  library  for  books." 

"  Couldn't  I  fetch  them  for  you  ?  "  asked  Volkert  im- 
pulsively. 

The  little  lady  blushed  with  pleasure.     "  Oh,  I  couldn't 

really "  she   began,   but    Sj^angenberg   cut   her   short. 

"  That's  right,  Volkert,"  he  said.  '^  He's  got  oceans  of 
time,  Mevrouw,  and  you've  nobody  else  " — a  quick  glance  at 
the  white-headed  seer,  who  was  gazing  abstractedly  into  the 
lamp — "  He  can  come  to  you  about  it  to-morrow." 

The  young   men   took  leave.     At  the  door  the   tailor 

stopped,  irresolute,  and  then  faced  round.     "  There  is " 

he  began,  "  I — I  should  just  like  to  say  this.  You  have 
been  kind  in  asking  me  here.  I — perhajis  wo  shall  never 
meet  again.  You  have  been  speaking  a  great  deal  about 
human  happiness  and  the  King  of  Love  !  Oh  the  King  of 
Love  !  " — he  clasped  his  hands.  "  If  only  you  knew  him  ! 
He  leads  his  servants  in  patlis  of  perfect  peace.  Ho  is  my 
King.  Would  to  God  the  Lord  Jesus  ruled  in  every  heart 
here  present  to-night."  He  had  spoken  the  closing  sen- 
tences quite  fluently.  He  gave  them  all  a  sort  of  little  fare- 
well bow  and  was  gone. 

Christian  and  A^olkcrt  followed  more  slowly,  passing  in 


386  '^'11 K  GREATER  GLORY. 

silence  across  the  desolate  court.  By  the  Spangeubergs' 
door  they  halted,  under  a  solitary  gas-lamp. 

"  ^lyuheer  Morel  talks  well,"  said  Christian.  "  He  has 
beautiful  thoughts,  like  you,  and  he  has  talked  about  them 
all  his  life." 

"  And  this  is  what  you  call  a  convivial  evening?"  asked 
the  other  young  man. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Christian,  latch-key  in  hand,  "  this  is 
what  I  call  pleasant  intercourse.     Would  you  prefer  a  ball  ?  " 

Volkert  w^ent  on  alone.  For  a  long  time  Christian's 
words  kept  ringing  in  his  ears,  but  gradually  they  gave 
place  to  the  other  strange  impressions  of  the  evening : 
Mevrouw  Morel,  Mynheer  Morel,  that  humble  home  of 
valiant  love  and  lofty  effort.  How  they  loved  each  other, 
these  two,  how  they  understood  each  other  !  This,  surely, 
tliis  unity  of  love  and  art  w^as  life.  And  was  it  the  jDoet's 
fault  if  poetry  doesn't  pay  ? 

Then  he  remembered  Tipper  and  smiled.  Yet  deep 
down  in  his  heart  lay  the  tailor's  solemn  message  :  "  He 
leads  His  servants  in. paths  of  perfect  peace." 

"  Well,"  he  mused,  "  I  shall  have  to  spend  the  morning 
in  the  University  Library.  After  that  I  must  hurry  back, 
for  I  am  due  at  my  aunt's  '  At  Home.'  Christian  is  right, 
but  he  sees  only  his  one  side  of  the  question.  I  made  a 
fool  of  myself  at  his  '  Club.'  A  gentleman's  duty  is  to  re- 
main a  gentleman.  Then  what  right  have  I  to  break  loose  ? 
I  accept  my  dull  weight  of  '  Fortune's  favours,'  and  drag  on 
alone." 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

THE   WILL. 

"  "Who  is  that  ?  "  asked  a  passer-by,  as  the  brougham 
with  its  beautiful  grey  thoroughbreds  swept  at  a  sharp 
angle  out  of  the  Noordeiude  into  the  square  before  the 
Palace. 

"  His  Excellency  Count  Rexelaer,"  replied  his  compan- 
ion. "  Doubtless  on  duty.  One  can  see  you  are  a  stranger 
in  the  Hague." 

"  Of  course  I  am.  And  who  is  Count  Rexelaer  ?  One 
of  the  Rexelaers  of  Deynum?  " 

The  other  laughed  aloud.  "And  who  is  King  William  ?  " 
he  said.  "  And  who  is  the  Pope  ?  It  is  something,  at  least, 
that  you  know  there  are  Rexelaers  of  Deynum." 

The  "  provincial "  was  nettled.  "  That  is  altogether  dif- 
ferent," he  said.  "  Everyone  knows  that ;  it  is  a  matter  of 
history.  But  as  for  distinguishing  each  little  mannikin  at 
Court " 

"  Hush,  hush  !  you  are  still  in  the  Hague.  Keep  those 
sayings  for  when  you  get  back  to  Friesland.  He  is  the 
Rexelaer  of  Deynum;  will  that  suffice  you?  And  more- 
over, or  perhaps  on  that  account.  My  Lord  the  High  Sene- 
schal." 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  he  had  a  nasty,  sneaking  sort  of  face," 
said  the  Frisian,  as  they  walked  on. 

Count  Rexelaer  alighted  from  his  carriage  and  passed 
through  the  great  glass  doors.     The  doorkeej)cr  checked 
him  deferentially. 
20 


388  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

"  There  is  a  foreign  gentleman  waiting  to  see  your  Ex- 
cellency," he  said. 

Count  Eexelaer  found  the  foreigner  in  his  bureau.  He 
was  a  tall  man,  correctly  dressed  and  neatly  shaven,  a  man 
with  a  settled  expression  of  worry  on  his  smooth,  pale  face. 
Count  Eexelaer  measured  him  at  a  glance.  One  of  those 
persons  whom  everybody  but  a  gentleman,  even  a  Royal 
doorkeeper,  mistakes  for  a  gentleman.  Count  Rexelaer  was 
a  gentleman  and  knew. 

"  My  name  is  Loripont,  Excellency,"  said  the  stranger 
politely,  in  French,  "Antoine  Loripont,  at  your  Excel- 
lency's service.  I  can  hardly  flatter  myself  that  your  Ex- 
cellency remembers  it." 

"  No,"  said  the  Count,  "  I  do  not."  After  a  moment's 
indecision  he  waved  his  hand  in  the  direction  of  a  chair. 

Loripont  took  no  notice  of  this  permission.  All  through 
the  interview  he  remained  standing  in  a  "  correct "  attitude 
by  his  Excellency's  writing-table. 

"  I  was  valet,"  he  continued,  "  to  the  late  Monsieur  the 
Marquis  de  la  Jolais-Earjolle  de  Saint- Leu  et  de  Deynum" 
— was  it  deference  which  prompted  this  final  addition,  or 
rather  a  desire  to  annoy  ? — "  I  was  with  Monsieur  the  Mar- 
quis at  the  time  of  his  death.  Shortly  after,  I  wrote  to 
your  Excellency." 

"  Ah,  that  I  remember,"  said  the  Count.  "  I  replied  to 
your  letter  by  asking  for  fuller  information,  which  was 
never  received." 

"  It  is  so.  Monsieur  le  Comte.  Most  humbly  I  hope  for 
your  Excellency's  pardon.  From  the  tone  of  the  rejjly  I  too 
rashly  concluded  that  further  attempts  would  be  useless. 
And  so  I  gave  the  matter  up." 

"  If  it  was  '  chantage '  you  meditated,"  said  the  Count 
frigidly,  "  as  I  believed  at  the  time,  your  etforts  were  indeed 
superfluous.     They  would  be  so  still." 

"  It  was  not '  chantage,'  Monsieur  le  Comte,  if  your  Ex- 
cellency will  forgive  me.     I  have  no  wish  to  extort  money. 


THE    WILL.  389 

The  Deynimi  Notary  told  me,  immediately  after  my  la- 
mented master's  decease,  that  the  document  was  valueless. 
AVhen  your  Excellency  answered  me  that  you  were  willing 
to  perform  whatever  the  law  of  the  country  required  of  you, 
I  said  to  myself :  I  can  do  no  more.  The  good  God  must 
look  after  his  own." 

"  You  showed  judgment,"  said  his  Excellency,  with 
downcast  smile,  drumming  his  polished  finger-tips  on  the 
table.     "  Has  time  rendered  you  less  discreet  ?  " 

"  Not  so.  Monsieur  le  Comte,  but  time  has  taught  me 
better.  Perhaps  the  Deynum  Notary  did  not  know ;  per- 
haps he  did  not  want  to  know.  I  have  discovered  that  the 
document  was  not  absolutely  valueless.  It  is  a  valid  will 
and  testament." 

Count  Eexelaer  looked  up  with  an  oath.  "  That  is  a 
lie,"  he  said  shrilly.  "  An  infamous,  blackguardly,  black- 
mailing lie.  Not  a  penny  shall  you  get."  Then  his  gaze 
sank  slowly  down  again,  upon  his  polished  finger-tips. 

"  I  must  beg  of  your  Excellency  not  to  swear  at  me," 
said  Antoine ;  "  it  awakens  too  painful  recollections.  I  was 
about  to  remark  that,  in  my  country,  the  will  was  perfectly 
valid.  I  am  speaking  the  truth.  It  would  have  been  valid, 
even  had  there  been  no  witnesses." 

"  It  was  not  binding  in  Holland,"  said  the  Count,  "  and 
that  is  enough." 

"  The  paper,"  continued  Antoine,  without  heeding  the 
interruption,  "  cancelled  the  Dutch  will  the  Notary  had 
just  drawn  up,  and  directed  that  the  entire  estate  of  Dey- 
num and  the  sum  of  two  hundred  thousand  francs  should 
pass  to  the  Convent  of  Crevort,  to  the  little  sisters  of  the 
poor,  to  be  spent  exclusively  in  charity.  Madame  the 
Countess,  your  lady,  was  again  completely  disinherited." 

"  Had  this  '  paper '  been  of  any  value,  you  would  have 
turned  up  eight  years  ago,"  said  the  Count. 

"  Three  years  after  the  decease  of  Monsieur  le  Marquis 
I  learned,  from  a  Belgian  lawyer,  exactly  what  its  value 


390  '^HE  GREATER  GLORY. 

was.  "We  could  not  have  touched  your  Castle,  Monsieur, 
which — luckily  for  you — lies  in  Holland,  but  the  Belgian 
money  should  never  have  been  paid.     That  was  a  mistake." 

"  Mistakes  are  often  difficult  to  remedy,"  said  the  Count 
with  a  smile. 

"  Surely  that  depends  upon  who  was  erroneously  benefited 
by  them  ?  "  suggested  Loripont,  who  had  always  been  per- 
fectly at  ease  in  the  extremes  of  servility  and  insolence. 
"  Your  Excellency  has  received  from  Belgium  two  hundred 
thousand  francs  to  which  you  had  not  even  a  legal  claim. 
Had  I  shown  my  little  paper  sooner,  you  would  never  have 
received  them." 

"  Are  you  come  to  ask  them  back  ?  "  asked  the  Count. 

"  As  for  that,  I  am  come  to  ask  everything  back." 

His  Excellency  cast  a  quick  glance  at  the  bell-rope. 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  your  Excellency  is  not 
entitled  to  Deynum.  My  master  left  his  property  to  the 
Church.  I  am  only  a  valet.  I  ask  you,  a  Christian  and  a 
nobleman  :  Have  you  a  right  to  retain  it  ?  " 

"  The  property,"  replied  the  Count,  "  is  both  naturally 
and  legally  mine.  Allow  me  to  say  that  my  time  is  much 
occupied.  The  Marquis,  just  before  his  violent  death,  can- 
not have  been  responsible  for  his  actions,  and  that  paper, 
if  it  be  genuine,  represents  a  crazy  whim.     Good  morning." 

Loripont  did  not  stir  from  his  respectful  pose.  "  As  for 
whims,"  he  replied  boldly,  "  the  first  will  was  no  less  a 
whim  than  the  second.  But  I  hardly  dared  to  expect  that 
your  Excellency  would  give  back  the  estate.  With  the 
money,  however,  it  is  a  different  matter.  That  was  paid  in 
legal  error.  I  am  told  it  cannot  be  legally  redemanded.  I 
am  not  a  judge  of  such  matters.  To  me  your  law,  which 
sets  aside  a  dead  man's  wish,  seems  monstrous." 

The  Count  veered  round  in  his  chair,  politely  contem- 
plative. "  On  the  contrary,  my  good  man,"  he  said. 
"  Allow  me  to  explain.  The  Dutch  law  is  exceedingly  judi- 
cious in  requiring  the  assistance  of  a  Xotary.     "Were  the 


THE   WILL.  391 

rule  generally  introdiiced,  a  contested  succession  would  be- 
come an  exceeding  rarity.  In  this  country  such  cases  are 
almost  unknown." 

"  I  understand  nothing  of  these  matters,  your  Excel- 
lency. But  one  thing  I  know.  That  money  is  not  yours. 
It  belongs  to  God." 

"  Is  that  why  you  come  and  ask  for  it  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte,  I  do  not  ask  a  penny  for  myself. 
I  can  no  longer  bear  the  idea  that  the  owners  have  been 
defrauded  through  my  negligence.  That  idea  haunts  me 
night  and  day." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  am  unable  to  employ  you  as  a  go-be- 
tween in  paying  my  dues  to  the  Almighty.     That  is  final." 

The  Count  blinked  irritably  and  pushed  about  his  writ- 
ing-things. 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  Antoine  laid  one  hand  on  the 
table,  "  it  is  the  religion — can  you  not  understand  ?  You 
know  how  my  master  died  ;  I  have  kept  my  oath  to  him, 
and  Brussels  does  not.  For  pardon  he  gave  it  all  in  that 
desperate  moment — to  buy  pardon  for  his  crime.  And  now 
it  is  useless,  and  a  curse  must  rest  upon  it,  while,  perhaps, 
he  endures  the  pains  of  purgatory.  Do  you  dare  to  leave 
him  ther-e  9  " 

Once  more  Count  van  Eexelaer  smiled.  "  My  friend," 
he  said,  "  you  are  melodramatic.  You  can  hardly  expect 
me  to  purchase  a  release  for  all  my  relations  whom  their 
own  misbehaviour  may  have  landed  in  hell.  But  these  are 
superstitious  ideas,  the  outcome  of  a  corrupt  religion.  With 
us  Protestants  Hell  or  Heaven  is  a  question  of  grace,  not  of 
gold.  There  ;  of  course  you  cannot  understand.  To  come 
down  to  business :  How  much  do  you  want  ?  You  were 
long  my  uncle's  valet  and,  once  in  a  way,  I  do  not  mind  as- 
sisting you  with  a  couple  of  hundred  francs,  but,  take 
notice,  you  mustn't  come  again." 

"  My  God,  it  is  hopeless  !  "  exclaimed  Antoine,  and  fell 
back  with  a  lurch,  and  stood  silent. 


392  TUE  GREATER  GLORY. 

"  Yes,  my  offer  is  conclusive.  It's  no  use  trying  these 
things  on  with  me,  my  man," — the  Count  held  out  a  bank- 
note— "  Here,  thank  me,  and  get  you  gone." 

"  Listen,  you  !  "  the  quondam  valet  bent  forward  eagerly. 
"  I  used  not  to  care  so  much  about  being  quite  sure.  But 
as  a  man  gets  nearer  the  end,  he  wants  to  doubt  on  the 
right  side.  When  your  wdfe's  uncle  killed  himself  (and  I 
hadn't  grown  rich  in  his  service),  I  paid  money  to  have 
masses  said." 

"  That  was  very  wrong,"  interrupted  the  Count.  "  It 
is  a  foolish,  futile  superstition." 

"Listen,  please.  From  this  paper" — he  tapped  his 
breast — "  I  knew  the  suicide  had  hoped  to  spend  his  thou- 
sands where  I  could  but  give  hundreds.  I  could  not  help 
that.  Three  years  later  I  learned  that  I  co^ild  have  helped 
it.  0  my  God,  what  a  thought !  It  was  my  fault,  then, 
that  the  money  had  not  been  paid !  I  have  a  small  busi- 
ness ;  my  wife  is  frugal  and  it  prospers,  but  every  penny  I 
can  scrape  or  save  I  bring  to  the  priests  in  payment  of  my 
debt.  My  wife  does  not  comprehend  and  our  menage  is 
disunited.  I  shall  never  pay  it  off.  I  shall  die  before 
it  is  done.  I  also  have  a  complaint" — he  clutched  at 
his  chest ;  his  words  came  hoarse  and  fast — "  I  am  dy- 
ing. I  dare  not  die  with  that  unpaid  debt.  I  dare  not 
meet  the  dead  man,  beyond,  perhaps,  in  those  flames 
in  which  my  fault  has  chained  him.  Voyons,  Monsieur 
le  Comte — you  are  a  mighty  Noble — even  you,  you  do 
not  knoiD.'''' 

An  awe-struck  silence  sank  upon  the  little  room.  The 
sick  man  stood  panting,  his  eyes  fixed,  in  eager  doubt,  on 
the  other's  face.  The  Court  Favourite  was  calming  his  fret- 
ful nerves.  At  last  he  spoke,  smoothly  enough  :  "  Your 
religious  ideas  are  all  wrong,  my  good  man,"  he  said.  "  I 
wish  I  could  get  you  to  speak  to  one  of  our  pastors,  for  I 
see  you  are  in  earnest.  You  are  the  victim  of  a  system 
which  trades  upon  human  credulity.     Were  the  sum  but  a 


THE  WILL.  393 

trifle,  my  scruples  would  forbid  me  to  squander  it  on 
priests." 

"  I  have  refunded  forty,"  said  Antoine  doggedly.  "  It 
has  taken  all  these  years.  And  a  hundred  and  sixty  re- 
main." 

"  So  you  say.  But  this  wonderful  will,  I  have  not  even 
seen  it ! " 

A  flash  of  hope  played  across  the  suppliant's  face,  as  lie 
softly  inquired  :  "  Is  your  Excellency  near-sighted  ?  " 

"  No.  AVhy  do  you  ask  ?  "  But  the  Count  knew  why, 
and  even  he  winced  under  this  menial's  measureless  con- 
tempt. 

Antoine  fell  back  a  few  paces  :  "  I  am  not  as  strong  as  I 
used  to  be,"  he  said  apologetically.  Then  he  drew  a  paper 
from  his  breast  and  held  it  aloft  with  one  hand,  while  the 
other  remained  concealed  in  a  bulky  side-pocket,  which,  the 
Count  felt  convinced,  contained  a  revolver. 

"  It  is  the  Marquis's  crest,"  said  Antoine.  "  If  you 
knew  his  eccentric  hand,  you  will  easily  recognize  it." 

"  I  cannot  read  it  from  here,"  replied  Count  Rexelaer 
indifferently.     "  Besides,  the  matter  is  of  no  account.     You 

may  take  your  hundred  florins "  he  got  up  and  rang 

the  bell. 

Antoine  Loripont  put  back  his  paper,  buttoned  his  coat, 
and  folded  his  arms  across  his  chest.  "  And  now,"  he  said 
in  accents  of  desperate  restraint,  "  it  becomes '  chantage.'  I 
will  make  you  do  it.  In  the  organs  of  the  opposition,  in 
the  socialist  journals,  I  will  publish  this  valid  will,  valid  but 
for  a  fluke.     Now,  will  you  listen  ?  " 

"  In  the  papers  of  the  opposition,  the  socialist  journals? 
My  good  friend,  pourquoi  pas?  I  do  right  in  upholding 
the  law  of  the  land.  There,  admit  my  incredible  good- 
nature, in  a  man  of  my  exalted  position.  Monsieur  my  de- 
parted uncle's  would  not  have  held  out  so  long," 

Stejjs  were  heard  in  the  adjoining  anteroom.  Antoine 
Loripont  pressed  close  to  the  Head  of  the  Household,  who 


394  TllP]   GREATER  GLORY. 

involuntaril}'  shrank  back.  "I  will  tell,"  said  the  man  in  a 
clear  whisper,  "  what  I  know — it  is  not  much,  but  it  is 
enough — of  the  wealth  of  Mademoiselle  Cochonnard. 
Now,  Monsieur  the  Court  Dignitary,  here  in  the  Eoyal 
Palace  I  ask  you  again  :  Will  you  pay  back  the  money  or 
not?" 

For  the  second  time  during  that  interview  the  Count 

swore  a  fierce  oath.     "  D ,"  he  said,  "  I  knew  it  was 

black-mailing  all  along.  How  much  do  you  want?  Will 
five  thousand  florins  do  ?  " 

"  All  or  nothing,"  answered  Loripont,  retreating  to  the 
door. 

The  Count  started  up  and  came  running  after  him. 

"  Ten  thousand,"  he  hissed  out  hurriedly.  "  I  can't 
make  it  more  than  ten  thousand.  Twenty  thousand  francs. 
Consider.     Nobody  would  offer  more." 

Loripont  opened  the  door  and  left  him. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

THE    SLOUGH    OF    DESPOND. 

An  hour  later  Count  Eexelaer  quitted  the  August  Pres- 
ence renewed  and  refreshed  in  all  the  tissues  and  fibres  of 
his  moral  being,  as  by  a  bath  of  sunlight.  For  we  all  of  us 
are  strengthened  by  a  draught  from  our  Source  of  Life, 
physical  or  psychical,  and  the  Court  Functionary  left  the 
Court  Atmosphere,  refilled,  re-corked,  re-labelled  and  re- 
polished,  a  bottle  full  of  sweetest  Essence  of  Orange-flow- 
ers, with  a  soft  little  kidskin  mask  and  a  ribbon.  Not  that 
it  wore  the  ribbon  to-day,  but  it  always  felt  it  there. 

"  I  may  as  well  look  in  on  Elizabeth,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, as  another  flunkey  was  helping  him  on  with  his  coat. 
"  Perhaps  Gratia  will  be  there,  and  that  will  save  me  a  visit." 
Gratia  was  his  old,  unmarried  sister,  come  to  stay  for  a  week 
with  some  quiet  friend  of  her  own. 

He  satisfied  himself,  on  entering,  that  Gratia  was  there, 
and  a  great  many  other  people  also.  Mevrouw  Elizabeth, 
in  her  hospitable,  comfortable  life,  liked  to  see  her  spacious 
rooms  well-filled.  Hilarius  was  an  unusual  visitor  at  her 
receptions ;  she  received  him  with  effusion. 

"  How  is  Jane's  baby?  "  he  asked,  from  the  tips  of  his 
colourless  lips.     "  Accept  my  congratulations." 

"  As  for  congratulations,  my  dear  Hilarius,  his  abomi- 
nable father  has  again  cut  them  down." 

"  Fathers  can't  live  for  ever,  not  even  old  Simmans,"  the 
Count  said  lightly.  But  the  words  struck  back,  cold,  with 
a  swift  reminiscence  :  "  Even  your  Excellency,  wlio  is  a 
great  noble,  does  not  knoiv.'''' 


306  TOE  GREATER  GLORY. 

He  glanced  across  at  his  own  son  and  successor  in  sjDir- 
ited  conversation  with  a  vohiminous  somebody  in  a  promi- 
nent pink  boa,  the  Russian  minister's  wife.  Then  he  edged 
away  to  his  sister,  whom  he  found  the  centre  of  an  amused 
little  group.  "  Doubtless,  making  a  fool  of  herself,"  he  re- 
flected, as  he  greeted  her.  "  I  am  sorry  we  so  seldom  meet, 
Hilarius,"  said  the  timid  lady.  "  We  were  wanting  to  ask 
you  to  dinner,  but  we  thought  Margherita  would  hardly 
care  to  come?"  The  Count  murmured  something  about 
pressing  duties,  and  Reinout  also  came  lounging  up,  dodg- 
ing a  beautiful  woman  who  was  evidently  seeking  to  attract 
his  attention — you  remember  the  Duchess  de  Vanhas  Ver- 
millanas  and  her  recent  infatuation  for  Scriccini,  the  tenor  ? 
Well,  twenty  years  ago,  in  the  full  flush  of  her  beauty  and 
her  scorn  for  the  Duke,  she  was  deeply  in  love  with  Reinout 
van  Rexelaer.  His  portrait  still  stands  on  her  toilet-table, 
amid  rouge-pots  and  essences.  She  bought  it  when  he  be- 
came famous. 

"  Hilarius,  I  want  your  subscription,  too,"  said  the 
Freule.  "  And  Reinout's  as  well," — she  turned  to  the  lady 
beside  her,  a  Privy  Councillor's  wife — "  it  has  really  done 
excellent  work  " — she  looked  up  at  her  brother.  "  I  am 
speaking  of  the  Society  for  furnishing  Layettes " 

"  Fie,"  said  his  Excellency,  holding  up  a  playful  flnger. 
There  was  a  general  giggle.  How  witty  he  was,  his  Excel- 
lency !  "  What  a  subject,"  he  continued,  "  for  an  unmar- 
ried lady ! " 

"  Hilarius  !  "  she  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with  her 
gentle,  guileless  eyes ;  then  she  turned  to  her  nephew : 
"  We  only  supply,  to  the  poorest  of  the  poor,  what  is  abso- 
lutely indispensable  ;  I  assure  you  the  work  is  good." 

"  I  believe  it,"  he  said,  and  her  face  quite  brightened 
under  unaccustomed  sympathy.  He  was  written  down  a 
member  on  the  spot,  though  declaring  himself  unable,  to 
his  father's  disgust,  to  produce  the  humble  florin  of  mem- 
bership.    Half  an  hour  ago  he  had  emptied  his  purse,  with 


THE  SLOUGH  OP  DESPOXD.  397 

the  old  unthinking  generosity,  into  the  hands  of  a  woman 
overflowing  with  woe. 

His  immediate  neighbour  stood  twitting  him  with  his 
novel  duties.  "  You  will  have,"  she  said,  "  to  take  the 
baskets  round,  yourself,  and  " — she  screamed  with  merri- 
ment— "  you  will  have  to  pin  on  the — the  things  !  "  Plump 
Eolline,  an  early  matron,  drew  nearer  to  enjoy  the  joke. 
"  Oh,  how  funny  !  "  she  said.  "  I  should  love  to  see  the 
dear  little  baskets,  with  the  dozens  of  little  caps  and 
chemises  all  done  up  with  coloured  ribbons  and  frills.  I 
must  ask  Aunt  Gratia  to  put  me  down  for  a  florin  too." 

In  another  corner  of  the  room  George,  looking  hand- 
somer than  ever,  was  telling  a  story  to  an  admiring  circle 
of  girls,  amongst  whom  sat,  in  a  clumsy,  crimson  heap,  his 
own  especial  Miss  Kops,  the  single  untitled  person  in  the 
room.  The  story,  in  spite  of  its  silver-gilt  wrappings,  had 
dirt  at  its  core.  Eeinout  stood  watching  for  a  moment ; 
two  of  the  girls  who  were  listening  belonged  to  the  half-a- 
dozen  from  whom  he  was  expected  to  choose  a  wife.  He 
flushed  scarlet  as  he  turned  away. 

"  Your  cousin  is  evidently  a  wit,"  remarked  Monsieur  de 
Bonnaventure  at  his  elbow.  "  When  young  ladies  smile  in 
that  unwilling  manner,  the  joke  is  always  to  their  taste.  I 
regret  the  more  that  I  cannot  speak  the  language." 

"  You  know  languages  enough  already,"  replied  Eeinout 
with  a  sneer,  "  to  speak  to  women  in." 

The  attache  smiled.  "  What  will  you  have  ?  It  is  part 
of  the  profession,  as  you  will  learn  soon  enough.  Have  you 
any  idea  where  they  are  going  to  send  you  ?  Your  fatlior 
spoke  of  St.  Petersburg.  The  climate  is  cold,  but  not  the 
ladies.     At  any  rate  it  is  never  dull." 

Eeinout,  already  several  paces  off,  stopped  and  eyed  the 
Frenchman  from  head  to  foot.  "  You  find  the  Hague 
dull  ?  "  he  said  slowly. 

"  I  ? — forgive  me,  but  yes.  Wherewith  should  I  amuse 
myself  ?  " 


398  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

Antoinette,  who  was  standing  in  a  corner  with  the 
Count,  here  beckoned  to  her  cousin  to  join  them. 

"  Fallait  endormir  le  petit,"  muttered  the  Frenchman 
as  he  sauntered  away  to  take  leave  of  the  lady  of  the  house, 
with  tenderest  enquiries  after  her  venerable  parent,  whose 
wonderful  health  formed,  in  all  Dutch  society,  a  subject  of 
amused  admiration. 

"  Come  here,  Eeinout,"  cried  Topsy.  "  I  am  trying  to 
get  Uncle  Hil  to  admire  these  verses.  They  are  in  the  same 
review  as  those  which  Jane  read  out  the  other  day,  and  by 
the  same  writer.  I  see  that  he  signs  '  Eene,'  a  namesake  of 
yours.  They  are  so  good  I  wish  you  had  written  them  ;  but 
uncle  Hil  doesn't  care  a  bit." 

The  Count  was  looking  bored.  "  Thank  Heaven  he  has 
not,"  he  said  with  awakening  fervour.  "  One  poet  in  the 
family  is  quite  enough.  No,  Topsy,  our  future  diplomat 
is  certainly  not  poetical." 

"  Father,  are  you  going  away  soon  ?  "  asked  Reinout,  de- 
taining him,  "  because  I  should  like  to  accompany  you 
home." 

"  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour,"  replied  the  Count.  "  Ta,  ta, 
Antoinette.     Don't  read  too  much." 

"  Eeinout,"  said  his  cousin,  "  come  out  into  the  conserv- 
atory for  a  minute."  She  passed  into  a  little  glass  passage, 
bright  with  greenery  and  azaleas,  and  there  stood  silent,  gaz- 
ing down  upon  the  open  page.  "  Blessed  are  the  pure  in 
heart,"  she  said  presently.  The  French  poem  before 
her,  some  five  and  twenty  lines,  bore  this  title :  "  The 
Pure  in  Heart."  The  words  of  the  close — but  is 
poetry  not  untranslatable? — might  be  inadequately  ren- 
dered as  follows  : 


Eyes  that  would  soar — Almighty  God,  Thou  knowest — 

Unto  the  whitest  secrets  of  Thy  breast, 

Must  they  still  sink,  from  lower  depth  to  lowest, 

By  their  own  weight  depressed  !  i. 


THE  SLOUGH   OF  DESPOND.  399 

Hearts  held  enchained  by  weeds  and  muddy  coatinjj, 
Shall  they  not  burst  their  bond, 
And  rise  at  last,  in  Thy  pure  sunshine  floating, 
Like  lilies  on  a  j^ond  ? 

"  For  they  shall  see  God,"  murmured  Antoinette. 

She  looked  up  and  gave  Reiuout  her  hand.  Her  eyes 
were  full  of  tears. 

"You  will  not  betray  me?"  he  asked,  breaking  the 
silence. 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  answered.  "  But  why  '  betray '  ? 
Don't  you  want,  at  least,  to  pluck  your  laurels  ?  " 

"  In  there  ? "  he  asked,  pointing  to  the  crowded  room 
from  which  they  had  just  escaped.  There  was  such  a  world 
of  misery  in  his  voice  that  she  dropped  her  eyes  again. 
"  My  father  and  I,"  he  added,  inconsequentially,  "  in  our 
own  way,  we  do  love  each  other." 

A  commotion  had  arisen  meanwhile  among  the  gay  com- 
pany inside.  Rolline  appeared  in  the  framework  of  the 
window,  filling  it  with  her  healthful  prosperity.  Even  at 
that  moment  a  flicker  of  amusement  played  over  her  per- 
turbed features  at  sight  of  the  pair  in  the  greenhouse. 

"  Oh,  Topsy,  haven't  you  heard  ?  "  she  said.  "  Grand- 
mamma's had  a  fit.     Isn't  it  dreadful  ?     She's  dead." 

Ten  minutes  later  Count  Rexelaer  and  his  son,  side  by 
side  in  the  silence,  were  driving  rapidly  home.  They  had 
nearly  reached  their  destination  before  Reinout  began  : 

"  Father,  this  is  what  I  had  wanted  to  say  :  Monsieur  de 
Bonnaventure  comes  to  the  house  too  much." 

"  Surely,  Reinout,  I  am  the  best  judge  of  the  question 
whom  I  think  fit  to  receive." 

"  Father,  I  only  wanted  to  say  this :  IMonsieur  de  Bon- 
naventure comes  to  our  house  too  much." 

"  It  is  an  improper  thing  to  say,  a  ridiculous  thing. 
Oblige  me  by  speaking  of  something  else,  or  holding  your 
tonorue." 


400  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

"You  will  remember — will  you  not? — that  I  said  it?" 

"  No,  I  will  try  to  forget." 

They  did  not  exchange  another  word.  The  carriage 
stopped.  Eeinout  was  nearest  the  door.  He  got  out  first 
and  hurried  up  the  steps.  In  the  entrance-hall  he  paused 
and  faced  his  father.  A  well-known  hat  and  stick  lay  on 
an  oaken  seat.  Their  glances  met  and  dropped  away. 
The  servant  who  had  opened  the  door  stood  motionless,  at 
attention,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  buckles  of  his  shoes. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

HUMILITY   AND    HUMILIATION". 

The  Canal  of  the  Roses,  despite  its  fragrant  name,  is 
not  a  pleasing  water  whereby  to  pitch  one's  tent ;  the  roses 
smell  too  strong.  Yet  when  Vrouw  Poster  sent,  as  a  fare- 
well gift,  a  great  nosegay  of  "  Baroness"  blossoms,  "  What 
shall  we  do  with  these  ?  "  said  the  old  lady  to  her  daughter ; 
"  take  them  away." 

The  Baroness  was  now  completely  dependent  on  Wen- 
dela's  care.  The  landlady's  advances  she  repelled  with  chill 
hauteur ;  she  would  have  no  sympathy,  not  even  from  her 
daughter.  "  God  withholds  all  His  mercies,"  she  said  be- 
tween her  prayers,  "  even  deatli." 

With  part  of  the  produce  of  the  Deynum  sale  the  Baron 
repaid  Gustave's  loan  and  at  the  same  time  he  dismissed 
him.  "  I  cannot  even  afford,"  he  said,  "  to  give  you  the 
pitiable  wages  you  at  present  receive." 

"  Yes,  Mynheer  the  Baron,  I  understand,"  said  Gustave, 
standing  very  straight. 

"  I  shall  not  insult  you  by  praising  your  faithful  service. 
I  heartily  thank  you.     Give  me  your  hand." 

Gustave  took  his  master's  worn  fingers  gently  in  his  own, 
looked  upon  them  for  a  thoughtful  moment,  and  then  def- 
erentially laid  them  down. 

"  Mynheer  the  Baron,"  he  began,  "  it  has  always  been 
my  intention,  on  leaving  your  service,  to  settle  down  with 
my  sister.     I  suppose  this  need  make  no  difference?" 

"  I  would  not  disturb  your  plans  for  the  world,"  said  the 
Baron. 


402  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

"  My  sister  has  a  hard  struggle  to  make  both  ends  meet 
and  it  is  only  fair  I  should  assist  her  ?  " 

"  But  a  rich  man  like  you,  Gustave  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  Nobleness  not  to  speak  of  my  miserable 
money,  which  is  really  more  yours  than  mine.  I  would  not 
live  on  it  for  the  world,  and,  besides,  I  should  be  so  dull." 
He  had  made  a  will,  in  fact,  in  which  he  had  ventured, 
with  due  circumspection,  to  leave  the  produce  of  his  specu- 
lations to  the  daughter  of  the  man  who  had  lost  where  he 
won. 

And  so  Gustave  quitted  the  Baron's  service  and  waited 
on  his  sister's  lodgers. 

"  I  must  go  and  see  this  Mynheer  Spangenberg,"  said 
the  Baron  day  after  day.  "  I  shall  be  better  to-morrow  and 
then  I  shall  go." 

Meanwhile  some  means  of  subsistence  would  have  to  be 
devised ;  for  hours  together  the  Baron  sat  revolving  this 
problem  in  his  weary  brain.  On  one  point  his  mind  was 
made  up.     He  would  accept  of  no  man's  charity. 

"  You  have,  in  fact — forgive  my  saying  it — been  living 
all  these  years  on  Count  Eexelaer's  bounty."  The  words 
burned  in  his  heart.  "  I  must  prove  them  a  falsehood 
before  I  die,"  he  said,  throwing  back  liis  grand  old  head. 
"  I  have  borne  everything  and  kept  silence.  I  will  not  bear 
that." 

He  did  not  wish  to  see  anybody,  but  John  Borck  came. 
"  Papa,  here  is  Mynheer  Borck,"  said  Wendela,  and,  before 
anyone  could  object,  their  former  antagonist  was  in  the 
room.  "  I  wanted  to  consult  you  about  a  horse,  Eexelaer," 
began  the  lord  of  Rollingen.  "  I  hope  you  won't  think  I 
intrude,  but  I  happened  to  be  in  Amsterdam  and  I  remem- 
bered that  nobody  in  all  our  country-side  is  as  good  a  judge 
of  a  horse  as  you.     I  wish  you  would  give  me  your  advice." 

"  Gladly,"  said  the  Baron,  much  gratified,  though  not 
altogether  the  dujje  of  the  excuse. 


HUMILITY  AND   HUMILIATION.  403 

"  I  bought  a  horse  here  a  week  ago "  began  Baron 

Borck,  and  soon  his  companion  was  very  much  interested. 

"  And  now,  I  wonder  whether  you  would  forgive  me,  if 
I  said  a  few  words  about  something  else? " 

A  troubled  look  came  over  Mynheer  Kexelaer's  face. 

"  Of  course  this  business  of  '  the  Dole  '  is  infamous.  I 
cannot  understand — excuse  me — your  acquiescing  in  what 
is  practically  robbery.  The  money  no  more  belongs  to  that 
gin-seller's  son  than  it  belongs  to  me.  Yes,  don't  look  at 
me  so ;  I  know  what  I  am  saying.  Have  you  any  idea  why 
my  Lord  Count  was  so  anxious  to  drive  you  from  Deynum  ? 
They  say  he  was  afraid  of  your  lovely  daughter's  charms." 

The  Baron  checked  the  fierce  words  that  came  rushing 
to  his  lips.  "  We  never  met,"  he  said  simply.  "  I  was  glad 
of  that,  though  my  wife  has  always  had  a  foolish  softness  in 
her  woman's  heart  for  the  unknown  boy  whom  they  call 
Reinout  Eexelaer.  My  daughter,  if  ever  she  marries,  will 
marry  one  of  her  equals,  I  hope." 

"  He  will  be  hard  to  find,"  said  friendly  John  Borck. 
"  But,  look  here,  you  must  recover  this  money.  Frankly, 
Rexelaer,  I  want  you  to  authorize  me — me,  Borck  of  Rol- 
lingen — to  undertake  this  lawsuit.  Not  on  your  behalf, 
but  in  the  interest  of  us  all.  The  thing  ought  to  be  known. 
There ;  I  have  set  my  heart  on  this,  and  I  hope  you  won't 
refuse." 

"  My  dear  friend,  I  must.  As  soon  as  I  am  able,  I  shall 
speak  to  a  lawyer  ;  the  money  is  undoubtedly  mine.  As  for 
these  Rexelaers,  whose  story  you  appear  to  know,  I  liave 
allowed  them  to  call  themselves  my  cousins  and  to  parade 
as  such  even  at  Deynum.  I  have  never — God  is  my  witness  ! 
— shewn  up  the  sham,  while  scandal  alone  would  have  been 
the  result.  But,  now,  it  is  they  who  have  forced  the  revela- 
tion upon  me  ;  I  must  defend  my  wife  and  child." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  you  say  that,"  cried  Baron 

Borck,  rising.     "  As  a  favour,  I  hope  you  will  let  me  do 

what  I  can.     By  the  bye,  I  bought  the  historical  articles  at 
27 


404  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

your  sale,  to  complete  my  collection.  And,  before  coming 
here,  I  slipped  this  into  my  pocket.  It  has  no  value  for 
us;  my  wife  would  burn  it.  I  thought  perhaps  yours 
might  care  to  have  it.     My  respects  to  her.     Good-bye." 

The  Baroness  had  not  put  in  an  appearance.  She  could 
not  bring  herself  to  think  kindly  of  "  the  Atheist." 

Baron  Eexelaer  opened  the  parcel  his  visitor  had  left  on 
the  table.  It  contained  the  costly  fifteenth-century  livre 
d'heures,  with  its  beautiful  initials  and  miniatures,  which 
has  ever  been  the  greatest  treasure  of  the  Chatelaines  of  Dey- 
nura.     They  call  it  "  the  Lady  Bertha's  Closet-book." 

But  you  cannot  make  bread  out  of  books,  except  you 
sell  them, — not  even  then,  unless  they  are  not  your  own. 
And  the  means  of  procuring  bread  were  growing  scarce ; 
they  all  three  knew  it,  while  hiding  it  from  each  other. 

One  evening  Wendela  came  back  to  the  Baron,  after 
helping  her  mother  to  bed.  Even  this  depth  of  sorrow 
could  not  bring  father  and  daughter  together,  while  between 
them  lay  the  angry  shadow  of  their  loss. 

"  Wanda,"  began  the  old  man,  "  I  have  been  thinking  of 
late  I  should  like  to  find  something  to  occupy  my  time  in- 
stead of  moping  here  all  day.  I  feel  much  stronger.  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  to  have  in  some  little  boys  to  teach 
them  " — he  went  on  hurriedly — "  I  shall  teach  them  French. 
I  have  spoken  about  it  to  JuSrouw  Bonders,  who  is  a  very 
sensible  woman  and  quite  sees  what  I  mean.  She  has  been 
most  kind  about  finding  me  the  pupils.  I  mention  this  to 
you,  because  they  are  coming  to-morrow  morning,  and  I 
should  wish  you  to  explain  to  your  mother  what  it  is,  when 
they  are  come.  I  will  have  them  in  the  bedroom ;  that  will 
do  very  well." 

Wendela  sat  opposite  her  father,  gazing,  without  re- 
sponse. 

"  They  are  little  Jew-boys,"  the  Baron  continued  mus- 
ingly.    "  I  cannot  help  wishing  they  had  not  been  that. 


HUMILITY  AND   HUMILIATION.  495 

But  the  feeling  is  one  of  foolish  prejudice ;  I  am  heartily 
ashamed  of  it,  and  I  daresay  it  will  wear  off  in  time." 

"  Did  you  say  they  were  coming  to-morrow  morning?" 
asked  Wendela  in  a  constrained  voice. 

"  To-morrow  morning  at  nine.  They  are  quite  small 
children,  and  I  apprehend  no  serious  difficulty.  I  consider 
it  better  to  tell  you  that  I  am  to  receive — remuneration,  so 
that  we  must  not  look  upon  the  lessons  as  a  favour  we  are 
doing  them.  I  am  to  receive  tenpence  j^er  hour  for  each 
child." 

"  Tenpence  per  hour,"  echoed  "Wendela. 

"  I  admit  that  I  myself  did  not  consider  that  very  much. 
But  then  we  must  take  into  account  how  little  I  have  to 
offer.  Speaking  a  language  is  a  very  different  thing  from 
teaching  it.  And  I  have  never  taught."  He  said  these  last 
words  in  a  tone  of  apology,  for  himself,  or  his  patrons,  or 
both. 

Wendela  did  not  reply,  and  they  sat  opposite  each  other, 
neither  disturbing  the  other's  thoughts,  beside  the  gloomy 
lamp. 

At  last  "Wendela  rose.  "  Good-night,  Papa,"  she  said, 
and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Good-night,  my  dear.     God  bless  you." 

She  turned  away  and  moved  slowly  to  the  door.  She 
had  reached  it  and  laid  her  hand  on  the  knob ;  then  she 
came  back  and,  without  a  word  of  explanation,  sank  on  the 
floor  by  his  knees  and  covered  his  hands  with  her  kisses. 
"  "Voyons,  voyons,"  he  said,  his  lips  trembling  under  his 
white  moustache.  "  What  is  it  ?  "What  is  wrong  ?  Voy- 
ons." 

But  she  did  not  reply.  She  gathered  herself  up  slowly 
and  left  him  to  his  thoughts.  They  cannot  have  been  so 
very  dismal,  for  he  smiled. 

Next  morning,  the  four  little  Jew-boys  being  shut  up  in 
the  bedroom  with  their  new  preceptor,  Wendela  went  down 


40G  THE  GREATER  GLORY, 

to  the  basement  to  look  for  Juffrouw  Bonders.  She  found 
her  in  the  kitchen,  making  a  pudding  with  her  own  dumpy 
hands.  Much  ruffled  by  the  Freule's  intrusion  on  her 
privacy,  Juiirouw  Donders  was  eager  to  explain  that  she 
never  demeaned  herself  by  household  work — no,  never ;  only 
once  in  a  way  she  had  tried  a  new  receipt,  which  her  cousin, 
the  pastry-cook,  had  sent  her.  She  was  accurate  and  vo- 
luminous in  this  assertion  of  her  dignity,  Wendela,  mean- 
while, standing  by  in  patient  disgust,  conscious  of  her 
father's  occupation  upstairs  and  her  own  errand  at  the  mo- 
ment. Juffrouw  Donders  was  not  as  charmed  with  her 
poor,  proud  lodgers  as  she  had  been  three  weeks  ago.  Her 
brother's  reticence  annoyed  her.  "  Give  them  of  your  very 
best,"  was  all  that  Gustave  said. 

"  JuSrouw,"  said  Wendela  resolutely,  "do  you  happen 
to  know  of  anyone  who  wants  to  learn  to  slug  ?  "  She  had 
sought  out  that  sole  accomplishment  all  through  the  sleep- 
less night. 

"  Good  gracious,  I  can't  find  pupils  for  the  whole  fam- 
ily ! "  said  the  landlady.  After  a  moment  she  added  a  little 
more  civilly :  "  You  might  advertise,"  and  then  she  resumed 
her  pudding-making,  leaving  the  Freule  to  appreciate,  slow- 
ly and  fully,  the  beauty  of  a  humble  heart.  Wendela  crept 
upstairs  again. 

An  advertisement  attracted  two  families,  one  with  an 
only  daughter  and  one  with  a  brace  of  girls.  A  young  man 
also  presented  himself,  but  him  the  Baron  vetoed.  Ulti- 
mately the  only  daughter — a  cheesemonger's — agreed  to  pay 
the  stipulated  price  of  fifty  cents  *  an  hour,  but  the  mother 
of  the  pair  of  pupils — a  butcher's  lady — after  having  re- 
quested the  singing-mistress  to  shew  her  powers  ("  First  a 
serious  piece,  please,  and  then  a  gay  one  ")  declared  very 
decidedly  that  she  could  not  give  more  than  eighteenpence 
the  two.     Wendela  came  away  from  that  interview  a  differ- 

*  Eqnals  tenpence. 


HUMILITY   AND   HUMILIATION.  407 

ent  creature.  Till  now  her  innocent  wrongs,  endured  in 
isolation,  liad  hardened  and,  if  the  word  be  permissible, 
haughtened  her.  For  the  first  time  humiliation  struck  her 
straight,  soiling  her  soul  with  mud.  Where  now  was  the 
glory  of  this  sordid  shame  ?  A  hot  flush  melted  the  pure 
proud  ice,  and,  as  it  melted,  she  saw  it  turn  to  mire.  At 
last  she  understood  that  no  greatness  of  ancestry  can  save 
tis  from  disgrace.  And  her  heart  was  emptied,  of  all  but 
bitterness. 

In  the  shelter  of  her  early  girlhood  it  had  been  easy  for 
so  high-souled  a  nature  to  fly  from  the  hateful  present 
into  the  calm  splendour  of  a  mythic  past.  The  woman, 
face  to  face  with  life's  vulgarity,  laughed  aloud.  Knight 
Pilgrim,  riding  away  into  the  darkness,  never  even  turned 
to  look  back. 

"  Mine  are  at  least  Gentiles,"  she  said  to  her  father, 
fiercely. 

"  Hush,  Wanda.  They  are  very  nice  little  boys."  When 
the  first  lesson  was  over,  the  Baroness  had  called  softly  to 
her  husband.  "  Come  close,"  she  said,  and  as  he  bent  over 
her :  "  Mon  ami,  you  are  still  so  weak  ! " 

"  No,  it  was  quite  necessary,"  he  answered.  "  But  when 
I  have  settled  with  the  lawyer,  all  will  be  right.  I  cannot 
make  any  more  debts,     I  cannot.     You  must  not  mind." 

"  Mind  ?  "  she  repeated  wistfully.  "  I  cannot  be  prouder 
of  you  than  I  am,  Reinout.  As  for  lessons,  Louis  Philii^pe 
gave  them,  and  he  was  not  even  a  gentleman." 

Two  days  later  the  Baron  called  on  Spangenberg.  "  I 
will  look  into  the  matter  as  soon  as  possible,  Mynheer,"  said 
the  busy  young  lawyer,  "  and  I  earnestly  hope  we  shall  be 
able  to  set  it  right." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  whether  the  expense  to  be  in- 
curred— in  no  case  should  I  care  to  incur  great  expense." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  the  expense,"  said  Christian. 

The  Baron  drew  himself  up  stiffly.     "  No,  but  I  must 


408  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

beg  of  3'ou,"  he  said,  "  if  possible,  to  furnish  me  with  an 
approximate  estimate " 

"  Ten  florins,"  said  Christian,  The  Baron  gave  a  great 
gasp  of  relief.  Why,  his  watch  must  be  worth  at  least  a 
hundred ! 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  you.  Mynheer  the  Advocate," 
he  replied  with  his  old-fashioned  bow. 

In  the  street,  as  he  went  limping  home,  he  twice  re- 
peated to  himself,  "  There  is  nothing  more  humbling  than 
being  a  man  to  whom  all  men  may  shew  kindness.  Yet, 
had  I  been  truly  a  good  man,  I  should  never  have  found 
that  out." 


CHAPTER   LVI. 

A   CLANDESTINE    CORRESPONDENCE    WITH   THE    LOVE 
LEFT   OUT. 

VoLKERT  duly  fetched  books  from  the  University  Li- 
brary for  Mevrouw  MoreL  After  a  time  he  began  to  think 
she  required  a  good  many.  He  brought  them  to  "  Paradise  " 
in  cabs,  for  he  was  not  yet  accustomed  to  walking  the  streets 
with  a  parcel. 

"  Tell  me  honestly,"  said  Spangenberg  one  day,  "  does 
not  Mother  Morel's  gratitude  cause  you  greater  pleasure 
than  any  number  of  letters  admiring  your  beautiful  senti- 
ments?" "I  like  the  letters  too,"  replied  his  friend. 
"  You  are  jealous  because  you  never  got  any."  "  Forgive 
me,  Volkert ;  remember  I  am  your  officially  appointed  Men- 
tor." "  Yes,  but  I  did  not  say  you  were  always  to  be  on 
duty."     "  True,"  said  Spangenberg,  holding  out  his  hand. 

Still,  in  his  heart  of  hearts,  Volkert  would  have  been 
obliged  to  admit  that  his  first  endurance  of  personal  incon- 
venience, after  twenty -four  years  of  facile  generosity,  friend- 
liness and  almsgiving — had  brought  him  a  completely  new 
sensation.  He  recalled  with  a  sneer  at  himself,  how,  before 
his  meeting  with  the  editor,  all  men  about  him,  himself  not 
least,  had  praised  him  for  being  so  "free  of  his  money,"  so 
"  condescending  to  inferiors,"  so  "  good."  And  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  in  some  strange  revulsion  of  reasoning,  he 
gave  the  calmian  who  brought  him  and  his  books  from  the 
library  no  more  than  his  legal  fare.  "  Charity,"  he  began 
to  feel,  meant  something  of  whicli  he  had  never  heard. 


410  THE  GIIEATP]R  GLORY. 

"  Spangenberg  is  exceedingly  busy,"  said  Mynheer  Morel. 
The  old  poet  had  got  hold  of  the  young  one  as  an  agreeable 
substitute  for  Balby.  "  And  that  too  is  a  good  work,"  re- 
flected Christian.  "  And  what  a  privilege  for  ^lynheer  Vol- 
kert,"  said  Mevronw  Morel,  running  to  the  window  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  perambulating  pair.  "  Spangenberg  is  ex- 
ceedingly busy,"  said  Mynheer.  "  It  is  his  mission  to  be 
always  doing  something,  as  it  is  some  men's  to  remain  ap- 
parently inactive.  The  latter  are  the  more  important  class. 
Believe  me,  my  dear  young  friend,  the  world  owes  most 
things  to  its  laziest  men.  Conquerors  and  statesmen  are 
rockets  and  catherine-wheels.  The  courses  of  the  human 
race  are  guided  from  the  thinker's  easy-chair." 

Yolkert  liked  Mynheer  Morel,  not  only  for  this  alSnity 
which  caused  Christian  such  alarm.  He  liked  the  gentle, 
reposeful  courtesy  of  the  philosopher,  the  avoidance  of  all 
that  was  coarse  and  loud.  In  the  midst  of  the  turmoil  of 
his  tiny  home  the  old  gentleman  sat  composed,  and  mo- 
tioned his  visitor  to  a  chair  with  quiet  dignity,  as  if  unaware 
of  the  hole  in  its  covering  which  even  Mevronw  Morel's 
dexterity  could  no  longer  conceal.  To  the  young  man, 
lapped  in  luxury,  it  was  delightful  to  discover  how  utterly 
careless  of  creature  comforts  some  of  the  world's  best  and 
wisest  can  be.  He  had  never  before  met  with  men  of  edu- 
cation and  refinement  who  could  not  distinguish  vintages 
or  who  did  not  cavil  at  the  taste  of  their  cheese. 

He  enjoyed  being  present  at  the  harum-scarum  tea  among 
a  tumbling  crowd  of  healthful  children.  There  was  not 
always  enough  to  eat,  but  Avho  shall  say  when  seven  chil- 
dren have  enough?  "  Mevronw,"  said  her  guest  on  one  oc- 
casion, "  with  your  permission  I  shall  present  to  Freddie 
(set.  8)  your  book  on  '  Amanda's  Appletart  or  the  Fatal  Ef- 
fects of  Greediness.' "  "  I  never  go  in  to  Mevronw  Morel 
at  meal-times,"  explained  little  Miss  van  Dolder  to  her  more 
fashionable  friends,  "  the  feeding  of  the  children  is  too  pain- 
fully distressing."     With  this  dictum  Mevronw  Morel  would 


A  CLANDESTINE   CORRESPONDENCE.  41 1 

have  agreed,  as  she  wiped  her  pen  at  two  in  the  morning. 
Juffrouw  Spangenberg  had  no  patience  with  her.  "  Why, 
indeed,  must  she  write  about  the  convolutions  of  the  child  ? 
The  medical  men  knew  all  about  them  already,  for  Julirouw 
Spangenberg's  own  Christian  had  had  them  as  a  two-year- 
old  baby,  and  their  doctor  had  pulled  him  through  !  " 

Meanwhile  "  The  Cry  of  the  People  "  continued  to  pub- 
lish the  young  poet's  effusions,  still  signed  with  a  single 
"  P."  And  letters  addressed  to  that  "  P  "  continued  also, 
at  fitful  intervals,  to  arrive  at  the  office,  always  anonymous, 
always  written  in  the  same  female  hand.  Gradually,  in 
these  letters,  the  soul  of  the  writer  began  to  reveal  itself 
before  the  poet's  fascinated  gaze.  It  was  a  delight- 
fully mysterious  manner  of  making  an  acquaintance. 
He  answered,  as  best  he  could,  through  the  columns  of 
"  The  Cry." 

In  the  beginning  the  letters  had  been  completely  imper- 
sonal ;  the  first  half-a-dozen  did  not  contain  a  single  "  I." 
The  fair  writer  admired  the  poems  and  frankly  said  how 
and  why.  "  The  present  is  hideous,"  she  wrote,  "  the  past 
is  dead.  Oh  the  relief  of  meeting,  in  this  world  of  tranquil, 
smiling  evil,  with  a  soul  that  believes  in  the  future,  with  a 
heart  that  burns  red,  like  a  beacon,  in  the  light  of  the  com- 
ing day."  Christian  would  have  objected  :  "  Her  metaphors 
are  mixed."  Mynheer  Morel  would  have  declared  '  She  is 
young.'"  Volkert  felt:  "Such  beautiful  thought  must  be- 
long to  a  beautiful  face." 

In  the  seventh  scrap — they  were  all  short,  a  rare  merit 
— the  "  I  "  put  in  its  appearance.  "  I  have  suffered  wrong 
all  my  life,"  it  said,  "  but  I  have  always  believed  it  divinely 
ordained.  From  the  '  Cry  of  the  People '  I  have  learned 
for  the  first  time  that  wrong  is  wrong  and  may  be  combated, 
that  men  must  combat  it  so  as  to  leave  to  those  who  come  a 
better  world  than  ours." 

I'or  reply  he  took  the  economist's  pleasant  maxim  "  All 


4lL>  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

is  for  the  best  in  the  best-reguhited  of  worlds  "  and,  in  burn- 
ing verses,  tore  it  to  shreds. 

"  I  am  trying  to  understand,"  said  the  next  letter. 
"  My  parents  have  always  believed  that  God  guides  and 
orders  all  things,  and  of  the  most  monstrous  injustice  which 
befalls  them  they  say :  '  It  is  His  will.'  The  world  is  di- 
vinely based  on  law  and  justice,  wealth  and  poverty,  sin  and 
suffering ;  only  change  is  evil.  Wrong  is  right  because  it 
is.  Devout  Christianity  seems  so  like  Mohammedanism, 
"with  a  little  personal  appeal  thrown  in  to  make  all  suffering 
worse.  But  I  am  bewildered ;  I  have  always  rebelled.  Is 
it  possible,  as  you  think,  that  an  era  is  approaching,  when 
our  snug,  smirking  society  will  stand  out  in  the  face  of  God, 
a  naked  lie  ?  If  so,  if  in  the  far-away  ages  a  new  world 
were  possible,  then  the  life  of  each  stone  on  the  path  were 
worth  living  indeed.  God  bless  you ;  you  have  given  me 
hojje.^''     His  next  poem  was  entitled  "  Kismet." 

But  her  answer  was  in  quite  a  different  tone.  "  You  are 
still  young," — the  words  startled  him;  he  was  somewhat 
ashamed  of  the  keenness  of  their  pang — "  When  you 
have  suffered  as  much  as  I  have,  you  will  not  cast  your 
self  with  such  glowing  confidence  on  '  the  Eock  of 
God's  Eight.'  The  shipwrecked  are  afraid  of  rocks.  Xo, 
let  us  give  up  demanding  our  own  happiness,  analyzing 
our  own  sufferings.  To  work  for  others ;  that  is  the  task. 
The  glory  of  the  world's  future;  that, perhaps,  may  be  the 
reward.  So  much  you  have  taught  me  ;  I  can  never  thank 
you  enough  for  it.  Strange  that  I  should  have  selected 
your  scarce-launched  vessel  to  tow  my  broken  hulk  into 
port." 

The  poet  did  not  like  the  "broken  hulk"  at  all.  It 
sounded  suggestive  of  an  old  maid  with  a  miniature,  an  up- 
ward glance  of  the  eye,  and  a  cat. 

Spangenberg,  on  the  other  hand,  was  delighted  with 
"  Kismet."  "  You  are  actually  beginning  to  see  some  good 
in  '  to-day,'  "  he  said.     "  That  is  encouraging.     Xo  bene- 


A  CLANDESTINE  CORRESPONDENCE.  413 

factor  of  the   human   race  was   ever  made   up  entirely  of 
wrath." 

The  letters  now  ceased  for  some  time.  Volkert  reflected, 
ungratefully,  that  they  had  been  written  by  an  elderly  sen- 
timentalist to  a  boy.  And  he  remembered  how  frequently 
of  late  his  thoughts  had  reverted  to  the  beautiful  image  of 
his  "  Muse."  Well,  she  was  straightforward,  and  had 
stopped  him.  By-the-bye,  he  had  signed  his  last  verses  in 
full:  "  Pelgrim,"  and  this  he  now  continued  to  do.  "A 
charming  name ! "  said  Spangenberg,  "  I  had  always  thought 
your  P  stood  for  Peter  or  Paul." 

About  this  time,  unfortunately,  Spangenberg  fell  ill  from 
over-activity  and  was  obliged  to  stop  at  home,  fretting,  for 
so  do  busy  men  rest.  The  "  Cry "  not  being  allowed  to 
enter  his  father's  house,  he  could  not  even  see  what  a  mess 
his  sub-editor  was  making  of  the  business.  But  his  mother 
brought  him  some  excellent  jelly  and  coddled  and  cuddled 
him  in  a  flurry  of  tranquil  enjoyment. 


CHAPTER   LVII. 

THE   STORY    OF    RI-KSI-LA    AXD    THE    DEY    KOUM. 

UxDER  these  depressing  circumstances  Volkert  stopped 
away  longer  than  usual  from  "  Little  Paradise."  Xone  of 
them  knew  what  became  of  him  during  the  intervals.  He 
followed  no  profession ;  he  appeared  to  be  possessed  of  lib- 
eral means.  "  Have  you  a  mother  ?  "  Mevrouw  Morel  had 
once  asked  him  in  the  ordinary  course  of  conversation,  with 
a  gentle  lingering  over  the  word.  The  young  man  had 
paused,  as  if  for  a  moment's  reflection ;  then,  abrujotly,  he 
had  answered,  "  No." 

One  morning  he  remembered  with  sudden  compunction 
how  pathetically  Mevrouw  Morel  had  complained,  the  last 
time  they  met,  of  the  absence  from  all  the  public  libraries 
of  that  absolutely  indispensable  work,  Schlafenmiitzers 
Kinderjahre  der  Deutschen  Kaiser.  He  had  searched  for 
it  everywhere  in  vain.  He  now  telegraphed  for  a  copy 
from  Leipzig  (in  eleven  quarto  volumes)  and  had  it  ad- 
dressed to  the  office,  whence  he  fetched  it  a  few  days  later, 
carrying  over  about  half  as  a  foretaste,  to  Mevrouw  Morel's 
door.  Finding  this  open,  he  bumped  his  way  upstairs  and 
staggered  into  the  lady's  presence,  there  suddenly  to  halt  in 
awkward  and  annoyed  surprise.  For  a  woman,  a  stranger, 
lay  with  her  head  on  the  table,  completely  thrown  forward 
upon  her  hands.  Her  shawl  had  slipped  back  and  hung 
loose,  revealing  a  beautiful  neck ;  she  was  dressed  tawdrily, 
vulgarly,  not  as  good  women  dress.  Little  Mevi'ouw  Morel 
stood  beside  her,  smoothing,  with  one  affectionate  hand,  her 
coils  of  chestnut   hair,  and  speaking  rapid,  earnest  words 


THE  STORY  OP  RI-KSI-LA  AND  THE  DEY  NOUM.  415 

meanwhile.  The  woman,  who  was  sobbing  convulsively, 
lifted  her  head  with  a  frightened  jerk,  and  the  unwelcome 
visitor  let  all  his  books  drop  in  a  crash  on  the  floor.  The 
face  was  unknown  to  him,  it  must  have  been  a  j^retty  face 
once ;  now  it  was  oh  so  despairing  in  its  practised  effrontery. 
The  young  man  stammered  a  few  words  of  apology  and 
fled;  Mevrouw  Morel  followed  him  out  to  the  landing. 
"  It  is  nothing,"  she  said,  "  but  oh  the  books  from  the 
library  !  I  hope  you  have  not  injured  them  ! "  Volkert, 
as  he  walked  back  to  the  office,  rejoiced  in  the  i)icture  of 
her  surprise. 

The  hungry-faced  clerk  was  seated  at  his  desk  as  usual, 
his  protuberant  nose  inclined  across  his  work.  The  office, 
like  the  clerk,  was  gaunt,  unkempt,  aggressively  wretched. 
It  looked  as  if  it  had  never  been  new,  the  clerk  as  if  he  had 
never  been  young. 

"  Wonnema,"  began  Volkert,  "  do  yon  know  a  young 
lady" — his  socialism  largely  consisted  in  calling  everyone  a 
"  lady  "  or  "  gentleman  "  ;  with  some  people  it  takes  that 
form — "  do  you  know  a  young  lady  who  comes  to  see  Me- 
vrouw Morel  in  a  light-green  shawl  ?  "  He  was  not  ashamed 
of  his  iuquisitiveness ;  the  poor  bold,  sorrowful  face  had 
fully  aroused  his  pity. 

"  Has  the  '  lady,'  "  asked  the  clerk  with  a  sneer,  "  a  red 
face  and  pale-blue  eyes  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Then  I  can  tell  you  about  her,  if  you  really  care  to 
know.  That  girl  is  called  Dora  Droste.  Ten  years  ago  she 
was  a  kitchen  wench  in  the  Royal  Palace  ;  she  was  ignorant, 
foolish,  and  honest.  Nowadays  she  is  none  of  all  three. 
If  you  want  to  account  for  the  change,  you  must  ask  one  of 
the  king's  great  lords,  but  I  fancy  you  will  experience  some 
difl^iculty,  for  he  is  a  very  great  lord  indeed.  I  have  asked 
him  twice  without  receiving  an  answer  ;  the  last  time  I  did 
so  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  knocking  him  down,  I  think 
that's  about  all." 


416  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

"  Not  all,"  objected  the  auditor,  putting  together  the 
remaining  volumes  of  Schlafenmiitzel  which  lay  beside 
their  box  on  the  floor.  "  I  don't  see  how  the  nobleman  was 
responsible  for  what  she  is  now." 

"  Xor  did  the  noble  man,  as  you  correctly  style  him. 
Tliis  noble  man  was  at  the  head  of  the  Eoyal  Buttery- 
department  ;  she  was  under  him.  He  dismissed  her  with 
contumely,  when  her  disgrace  was  consummated,  seeking, 
and  finding,  safety  for  himself  in  the  vehemence  of  his 
persecution.  The  girl's  future  was  irremediably  ruined. 
She  came  to  me — I  also  was  a  slave  in  the  Palace  at  that 
time — and  I  lost  my  situation  for  taking  her  in.  But 
she  had  a  proud  spirit  and  would  eat  her  own  bread. 
My  lord  of  the  Buttery  had  left  her  but  one  way  of  earn- 
ing it." 

"  And  what  has  Mevrouw  Morel  to  do  with  her  ?  " 

"  Mevrouw  Morel,  were  she  wiser,  would  leave  her  in 
peace.  She  lives  near  us ;  I  don't  mind  her,  nor  do  the 
children.  It's  not  she  that's  to  blame."  He  ground  his 
heel  into  the  floor. 

"  You  must  not  blame  the  noble  too  much,"  said  Volkert. 
"  He  was  like  other  nobles.     He  didn't  know." 

"  Not  know  ?  I  took  care  that  he  knew  !  "  cried  Won- 
nema.  "  I  appealed  to  him  for  her,  for  the  child,  which  is 
long  since  dead  I  He  laughed.  I  believe  he  said  the  child 
was  mine.     Xot  know,  indeed  !     An  easy  excuse  ! " 

"  I  only  meant  to  say,"  rei^lied  Volkert,  pausing  by  the 
staircase,  "  that  you  cannot  understand.  That  class  looks 
upon  these  things  so  differently.  I  have  no  doubt  but  this 
lord  of  the  buttery  is,  according  to  his  lights,  a  most 
honourable  man." 

The  words  seemed  to  infuriate  Wonnema.  He  thrust 
back  his  desk.  "  An  honourable  man  !  "  he  cried  violently. 
"  And  you  venture  to  say  that  here  ! "  He  flung  across  a 
newspaper.  "  Take  that  upstairs  with  you  and  talk  about 
honourable  men  1 " 


THE  STORY  OF  RI-KSI-LA  AND  THE  DEY  NOUM.  417 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you,"  said  the  young  man 
calmly.     "  How  long  ago  did  all  this  happen  ?  " 

Volkert  went  upstairs  to  the  editor's  room  with  the 
newspaper  in  his  hand.  It  was  the  most  recent  number  of 
"  The  Cry  of  the  People  " ;  he  threw  himself  on  the  sofa 
and  leisurely  looked  it  through.  First  he  read  his  own 
verses  and  was  annoyed  by  an  awkward  misprint,  and  then 
his  eyes  dropped  to  the  paragraph  immediately  beneath 
them  which  he  saw  marked  with  a  pencil  cross.  It  was 
named :  "  Two  Stories  about  One  Gentleman  "  and  ran  as 
follows : 

There  was  a  great  Chinese  Mandarin  called  Ri-Ksi-La, 
the  first  favourite  of  the  Emperor.  His  wife's  uncle  died, 
and  Ei-Ksi-La  succeeded  to  a  vast  estate  bequeathed  by  the 
uncle  to  the  niece.  But  soon  after  came  a  priest  to  the 
Mandarin  and  said  :  "  0  Lord,  here  is  another  will,  a  later 
one.  And  it  proves  that  my  Lord,  your  Lady's  dead  uncle, 
wished  all  his  possessions  to  pass  to  Buddha,  that  good 
might  be  done  with  them."  "  Let  Buddha  come  and  fetch 
them,"  said  Ri-Ksi-La.  Buddha  has  not  come  yet,  and  Ri- 
Ksi-La  is  still  first  favourite  of  the  Emjieror. 

There  was  a  great  Turkish  Pasha,  called  the  Dey  Noum, 
and  he  was  first  favourite  of  his  master,  the  Sultan.  He 
had  a  beautiful  wife  who  had  brought  him  all  his  money. 
And  one  morning  there  came  a  stranger  to  his  divan  and 
said :  "  0  Dey,  your  wife's  father  was  a  slave-merchant  in 
the  far  markets  of  Asia,  and  the  slaves  whom  lie  sold  were 
white."  And  the  Dey  Xoum  made  answer :  "  I  know  it. 
The  markets  are  far,  and  the  money  is  near."  The  money 
is  still  there,  and  the  Dey  Xoum  is  first  favourite  of  the 
Sultan. 

The  young  man  from  the  Hague  sat  a  long  time  motion- 
less, with  the  paper  in  his  hand.  Presently  Wonnema 
looked  in.     "  Can  I  have  that  paper  back  ?  "  he  said.     "  I 


418  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

had  marked  it.  I  am  going  to  send  it  to  the  great  noble 
we  were  speaking  of  just  now." 

"  What  farrago  of  nonsense  is  this  !  "  the  other  burst 
out.  "  You  know  how  vehemently  opposed  the  chief  is  to 
personal  scandals.  The  thing  will  cost  you  your  situation, 
as  likely  as  not." 

"  I  have  thought  of  that,"  replied  the  clerk  with  quiet 
intensity.  "  ^Yhen,  after  ten  years'  waiting,  a  man's  re- 
venge falls  ripe  within  his  reach,  he  does  not  withhold  his 
hand." 

"  And  what  proof  have  you,"  cried  the  young  man  pas- 
sionately, "  of  these  covert  charges  against  Count  Eexelaer 
van  Deynum?    Probably  none  at  all." 

Wonnema  produced  a  couple  of  documents  from  a 
locked  cupboard.  "  Be  careful,  please,"  he  said,  with  a 
white  flicker  in  his  fierce  eyes.  "  I  have  seen  the  originals. 
They  were  brought  by  a  foreigner.  He  will  be  here  again 
to-morrow,  and  you  can  speak  to  him  if  you  like." 


CHAPTER    LVIII. 

A    HUNTED    HARE. 

"  I  CANNOT  understand  Mamma,"  said  Jane,  arranging 
her  tea-cups.  It  was  evening,  and  Rolliue  was  having  tea 
with  her.  "  Nor  need  I.  As  for  me,  perhaps  because  of 
the  failure  of  her  attempts  to  enrich  me,  I  do  not  think 
money  is  everything.  And  I  would  rather  not  have  had  it 
than  sit  opposite  Miss  Kops." 

"  Oh,  he  needn't  sit  opposite  to  her  more  than  he 
chooses,"  replied  Rolline,  gently  stretching  herself  in  a 
lady-like  manner,  and  admiring  her  feet,  the  only  part  of 
her  person  which  remained  resolutely  small.  "  And  I  must 
say  I  envy  him  the  way  Papuum  succeeds.  My  husband 
says  that  they  use  it  at  the  Palace.  It  has  just  been  intro- 
duced into  England,  where  ten  thousand  pounds  are  being 
spent  on  advertisement.  They've  got  two  Tatua  Papuas 
there  in  some  public  building,  the  Westminster — Westmin- 
ster Hall,*  I  believe,  and  everybody's  allowed  to  come  and 
tattoo  them  all  over  and  rub  out  the  marks  again.  And 
every  night  all  the  Harries  of  London  come  and  scribble 
their  names  over  the  wretched  creatures'  arms." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  Jane  impatiently.  "  Well,  I 
may  be  old-fashioned,  but  for  me  there  is  honourable  and 
dishonourable  money  still." 

"  And  what  do  you  call  honourable  money?" 

"  Inherited  money,"   replied   Jane    promptly.      "  Like 

*  Aguariuin  ? 
28 


420  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

Uncle  Ilil's,  for  instaneo.  Or  Cousin  Borck's  of  Eoirin- 
gcu." 

"  You  are  less  tolerant  than  poor  grandmamma,  ■who 
ought  to  have  known.  Did  I  tell  you  what  Monsieur  de 
Bounaventure  w'rote  in  my  album  ?  " 

"  No.     I  don't  like  Monsieur  de  Bonnaventure." 

"  Nor  do  I,  but  I  asked  him  to  write  in  my  album. 
Everybody  does.  And  he  wrote :  '  Mon  experience  de  la 
vie  se  resume  en  un  seul  mot :  L'or  dure.'  It  was  very 
nasty  of  him  and  in  execrable  taste." 

"  I  wish,"  said  Jane  meaningly,  "  that  jieople  would  not 
speak  so  much  of  Monsieur  de  Bonnaventure." 

Eolline  modestly  dro2iped  her  eyes.  "  As  for  that,"  she 
said  presently,  "  there  are  a  good  many  things  I  wish  peo- 
ple would  not  speak  so  much  about.  What  do  you  say  to 
the  two  little  stories  in  the  '  Cry  of  the  People  '  which  have 
been  all  over  the  place?" 

"  I  say,  as  my  husband  does,  that  nobody  ought  to  have 
read  them.    People  ought  not  to  know  such  a  paper  exists." 

"  People  didn't,  but  this  number,  they  say,  is  out  of 
print.  I  go  out  more  than  you  do,  and  I  assure  3^ou  I  see 
the  story  in  everybody's  face.  My  husband  made  me  a 
terrible  scene,  as  if  it  were  any  fault  of  mine." 

"  Pleasant  for  Eeinout,"  said  Jane,  beginning  to  wash 
up. 

"  Oh,  it  won't  hurt  Eeinout,  for  the  will  is  undoubt- 
edly valid  here.  It  is  worst  for  Aunt  Margherita,  but  one 
can't  pity  her,  she  makes  such  a  fool  of  herself.  The  best 
(thing  she  could  do  would  be  to  retire  definitely  among  her 
cockatoos  and  canary-birds  and  never  be  heard  of  again. 
But  she  goes  out  more  than  ever — tight-laced,  over-dressed, 
powdered  and  rouged — since  this  thing  got  about." 

"And  it  is  this  money  which  Mamma  wants  Topsy  to 
marry." 

"  Poor  Topsy,  I  don't  think  she  has  a  ghost  of  a 
chance." 


A   HUNTED   HARE.  421 

"  She  knows  it,"  said  June  angrily,  "  and  she  doesn't 
care." 

"Jane " 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  I  wonder  whether  Uncle  Ilil  knew  when  he  married 
her." 

But  the  baby  cried  out  in  the  adjoining  room,  and  Jane 
went  to  look  at  it.  When  she  came  back,  she  said,  pursuing 
her  thoughts  :  "  I  pity  Keinout  all  the  same.  He  is  an  hon- 
ourable man." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  pretend  to  understand  Keinout ;  he  is  dif- 
ferent from  everybody,"  said  Rolline. 

"  Eeinout's  education  was  destined  to  deaden  every  feel- 
ing but  worldliness ;  with  most  men  it  would  have  succeed- 
ed, and  what  a  success !  He  might  have  been  a  Talleyrand, 
as  Uncle  Hilarius  once  said  to  me.  But  other  feelings  have 
survived  and  caused  the  whole  man  to  fail.  He  is  like 
those  two  life-long  prisoners  released  from  the  Bastille  who 
did  not  know  what  to  do  with  their  freedom.  He  knows 
that  he  ought  to  feel  nobly,  and  doesn't  know  how  and  yet 
can't  live  without  it.     I  believe  he  is  a  miserable  man." 

"  Nonsense,  Jane,  how  excited  you  are  !  Quite  a  romance 
about  poor,  good-natured  Eeinout.  I  meet  him  constantly 
— at  least  I  used  to  before  this  scandal ;  it  looks  rather  cow- 
ardly in  him  to  hide.  He  always  seemed  to  enjoy  himself 
and  he  flirted  a  good  deal,  I  fancy.  He  is  going  out  to 
Russia  in  a  month  or  two,  and  he  will  die  an  ambassador, 
covered  with  stars,  at  his  beautiful  seat  of  Deynum.  Poor 
Reinout,  indeed ! " 

"All  that  is  true,"  replied  Jane,  "the  worse  for  him. 
He  is  hedged  in  on  every  side.  Nobody  can  nnderstand 
what  that  means,  until  he  has  tried  to  break  loose.  Suppos- 
ing you  and  I  were  suddenly  to  wish  to  become  Roman 
Catholics " 

"  I  ? "  cried  Rolline,  sitting  up.  "  How  preposterous 
you  are,  Jane  !  " 


422                            THE   GREATER   GLORY, 
"  It  is  only  b}'  way  of  comparison " 


"  Conrad's  family  would  never  allow  it." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  mean.  Perhai^s  our  husbands 
would  threaten  to  deprive  us  of  our  children,  and  we  might 
end  by  becoming  Catholics  on  the  sly.  I  imagine  that 
Eeinout,  deep  down  in  his  heart,  lives  a  life  of  his  own. 
The  life  that  we  see  is  his  father's." 

"  You  talk  of  him  as  if  he  were  a  cat,"  said  Eolline.  "  I 
don't  want  to  hear  anything  about  any  man's  two  lives,  and 
I  think  it's  rather  a  shame  of  you  to  suggest  such  things  of 
Eeinout.  I  should  sooner  think  it  of  Guy  from  the  horrid 
tales  that  I  hear." 

"  Guy !  "  said  Jane  with  ineffable  contempt.  "  I  don't 
know  what  set  me  talking  to-night.  I  have  never  men- 
tioned the  subject  to  anyone  but  Antoinette.  I  will  tell  you 
something  about  Eeinout,  though.  One  evening,  more  than 
a  year  ago,  when  ever\'body  had  been  speaking  of  his  bril- 
liant prospects,  he  came  up  to  me  suddenly  and  burst  out, 
'  I  would  give  it  all  to  be  a  man  ! '  He  was  strongly  moved, 
as  I  saw,  but  he  walked  away  immediately,  and  a  moment 
later  was  laughing  with  Dolly  Foulise." 

"  lie  isn't  a  woman,"  said  Eolline  sulkily,  but  Jane  did 
not  heed  her.  "  Perhaps  these  revelations  will  help  him," 
she  thought  to  herself,  over  her  tea-tray.  "  Perhaps ! " 
Aloud,  she  changed  the  subject :  "  As  for  Guy,  it  is  to  be 
hoped  he  will  marry  Cecile  and  settle  down  at  last." 

"  She  will  hardly  make  him  a  good  wife,"  said  Eolline. 
"  However,  Mamma  is  set  upon  it,  and  has  not  left  Cecile 
an  hour  of  peace  since  the  poor  thing  went  to  live  with 
them." 

"  Cecile  is  certainly  a  '  poor  thing,'  but  she  deserves  a 
nicer  husband  than  Guy.  However,  she  is  nearly  thirty  and 
must  look  after  herself.  But  I  suppose  she's  been  bullied 
too  long  by  Grandmamma  not  to  have  forgotten  how  to 
say  no." 

"  Come,  Jane,  you,  who  had  never  been  bullied  by  Grand- 


A   HUNTED   HARE.  423 

mamma,  forgot  how  to  say  no,  when  Mamma  nagged  at  you 
from  morning  till  night." 

"  True,"  replied  Jane,  and  a  slight  flush  spread  over  her 
sallow  face.  "  And  you,  who  were  less  strong-minded  than 
I,  yet  got  your  own  way.  Perhaps  Mamma  would  tell  us 
she  never  Avas  shortsighted." 

After  that  Eolline  looked  cross,  and  neither  sister  was 
very  sorry  when  the  cab  came  at  half-past  nine. 

Jane  remained  thoughtful,  with  her  pointed  chin  on  her 
hand,  in  her  poor  little  drawing-room.  She  was  musing  on 
the  irony  of  life,  which  always  grins  at  you,  even  when  it 
hurts  you  most.  At  first,  when  she  had  married  a  husband 
she  did  not  care  for,  she  had  comforted  herself  with  the 
thought  of  all  the  pleasant  things  his  father's  death  would 
bring  her.  She  would  buy  any  quantity  of  costly  books  and 
have  a  "  salon  "  and  invite  the  clever  people  whom  her  own  set 
never  saw.  There  was  one  man  who  daily  passed  her  father's 
house  with  whom  she  had  long  desired  to  pick  an  acquaint- 
ance, a  man  with  flowing  hair  and  a  pale,  thought-laden 
face — perhaps  an  artist ;  she  had  even  been  a  little  "  smit- 
ten," as  a  girl.  She  would  give  private  theatricals — pretty 
little  pieces,  purposely  written — and  the  papers  would  speak 
of  them.  And,  above  all,  she  would  have  a  real  studio  and 
devote  herself  in  earnest  to  what  Eolline  was  wont  to  call 
her  "  nasty,  sticky  painting-mess."  Girlish  fancies  :  in  her 
plain-spoken  manner  she  had  stipulated  for  these  things, 
and  the  thought  had  reconciled  her  to  marrying  Simmans. 
That  was  eight  years  ago  and  more :  her  father-in-law  Avas 
now  eighty-two.  She  loathed  herself  for  desiring  his  death  ; 
the  idea  was  the  misery  of  her  life.  Yet  she  knew  he  would 
not  die.  ITo  would  never  die.  Xor  would  it  matter  much 
now  if  he  did.  She  had  got  to  like  her  husband  ;  she  was 
overburdened  with  children ;  her  painting,  and  poetry,  and 
all  the  rest  of  it,  had  died  away  from  her  life  long  ago.  She 
hardly  found  time,  nowadays,  to  read  a  good  book,  when 


424  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

slie  could  get  one.  It  had  been  her  life-long  desire  to  pos- 
sess a  complete  Thackeray;  Mevrouw  Elizabeth  only  paid 
for  dress ;  Simmans  could  not  always  pay  satisfactorily  for 
that.  If  any  lover  of  literature  and  the  human  race  (are  the 
two  not  one  ?)  read  this  page  and  be  able  to  do  a  good  deed 
at  no  great  sacrifice,  let  him  send  a  cheap  edition — the 
green  cloth  one  will  do — to  Mevrouw  Simmans  van  Rexe- 
laer,  Bankastraat,  the  Hague.  Last  AVednesday  was  old 
Simmaus's  birthday ;  the  old  gentleman  gave  a  family  din- 
ner-party, and  Jaue  had  to  go. 

A  ring  at  the  house-bell ;  Jane  glanced  towards  the 
clock — a  quarter  past  ten.  She  did  not  expect  her  husband 
till  eleven.  It  Avas  not  her  husband ;  the  maid  announced 
in  accents  of  mildest  astonishment :  "  The  Freule  van 
Borck,"  and  Cecile  came  hurriedly  in. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  cried  Jane,  starting  up.  "  Pa- 
pa ?  "  All  the  children  van  Eexelaer  liked  their  quiet  father 
best. 

Cecile  sank  down  on  a  chair.  Her  face  was  white,  her 
whole  manner  distraught.  She  could  not  sj)eak,  but  Avith 
trembling  fingers  she  fumbled  at  the  clasp  of  her  heavy 
cloak,  till  it  fell  from  her  shoulder,  disclosing  her  soft  white 
dinner-dress. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  cried  Jane,  now  thoroughly  frightened. 
"  Which  of  them  is  ill  ?     Why  can't  you  speak  ?  " 

"  Xobody  is  ill,"  gasped  Cecile.  "  Oh,  Jane,  you  must 
help  me  ! "  and  she  burst  into  hysterical  weeping. 

"  Hush,  hush,"  urged  Jane  tenderly.  Hers  was  not  a 
nature  that  easily  showed  pity,  either  to  herself,  or  to  others. 
She  stood  awkwardly  beside  her  cousin  till  the  latter's  sobs 
subsided.     Then  she  said  :  "  Xow  tell  me." 

But  Cecile  did  not  lift  her  face  from  the  hands  in  which 
she  had  hidden  it.  Once  or  twice  her  throat  moved  vainly, 
and  at  last  she  whispered  through  her  knitted  fingers  :  "  I 
can  never  go  back  again."  Jane  bent  low  to  catch  the 
words ;  she  was  utterly  at  a  loss  to  understand. 


A  HUNTED   HARE.  425 

"  I  can  never  go  back  to  your  mother's  again.  Oh,  Jane, 
I  am  not  safe  there ; "  and  now  Cecile  began  to  cry  afresh, 
but  quietly,  with  that  heart-broken  continuance  which 
comes  of  a  lasting  wound. 

"  If  Guy  has  insulted  you,"  said  Jane  with  horrible  per- 
spicacity, "  why  didn't  you  tell  Mamma,  instead  of  running 
away  here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Cecile  without  altering  her  atti- 
tude. "  Don't  let  us  speak  of  it.  Only  you  must  help  me, 
that  is  all." 

"  But  if  I  am  to  help  you,  I  must  understand,"  pleaded 
Jane.     "  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  Hide  me.  Shield  me.  Oh,  Jane,  perhaps  I  am  very 
foolish.  I  have  never  been  accustomed  to  look  after  any- 
thing.    But  I  can't  marry  him." 

"  Well,  then,  tell  him  so  plainly." 

"  I  have  done  that,  more  than  once.  And  I  told  Aunt 
Elizabeth — I  really  did — that  she  might  have  all  my  money, 
but  she  only  grew  very  angry  and  said  I  had  insulted  her. 
And — and  " — the  Freule's  voice  again  failed  her — "  I  canH 
go  back,"  she  burst  out  passionately.  "Antoinette  helped 
me  to  get  away  and  told  me  to  come  here.  I  ran  all  the 
way.     Help  me,  Jane." 

Jane  rose  from  the  floor,  on  which  she  had  sunk  to 
listen,  and  stood  pondering.  "  It  is  my  own  mother,"  she 
said  at  last,  "  Henry  is  just  expecting  his  promotion,  and 
we  are  looking  to  Papa  to  help  us  through  with  it.  If 
Mamma  knew  I  had  thwarted  her,  she  would  never  forgive 
me." 

For  the  first  time  Cecile  lifted  her  terror-struck  face. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  desert  me  ?  "  she  cried.  "  I  have 
nobody.     Topsy  said  she  felt  sure  you  would  help." 

"  Let  Topsy  speak  for  herself,"  replied  Jane ;  she  felt 
goaded.  "  Of  course  I  will  help  you,"  she  added  more 
kiudly.  "  Yes,  I  will  This,  I  think,  will  be  best.  :My 
Aunt  Gratia  Rexelaer  is  staying  with  her  friend  the  Freule 


426  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

van  "Weylert ;  I  ^vill  (j:\\e  you  a  letter  to  lier.  You  arc  so 
agitated,  perhaps  you  had  better  spend  the  night  with  them, 
and,  if  to-morrow  morning  your  impression  remains  the 
same,  well,  you  are  of  age,  and  nobody  can  force  you  to 
return  home.  I  should  advise  you,  in  that  case,  to  consult 
with  Cousin  Borck  of  Eolliugen." 

Her  calm,  strong  voice  did  not  lose  its  effect  on  the  flut- 
tering soul.  "  But  Aunt  Elizabeth  has  always  said,"  Cecile 
began  timidly,  "  that,  as  I  am  not  yet  thirt}-,  my  guardian 
can  force  me  to  marry  whom  he  likes." 

"Mamma  confuses  two  different  laws,"  replied  Jane 
firmly.  "  You  have  no  guardian  and,  your  ^lai'ents  being 
dead,  you  are  free  to  do  as  you  will  " — an  immense  expres- 
sion of  relief  came  over  the  poor  girl's  anxious  face — "  Dear 
Cecile,  you  will  have  to  look  after  yourself  a  little ;  none  of 
us  must  trust  too  much  to  others  to  look  after  them." 

"  I  must  try,"  said  Cecile  desperatel}^  "  but  I  haven't 
any  money.  Xothing  but  the  few  florins  in  my  purse,  and 
even  that  I  left  on  my  toilet-table." 

JanS"  smiled.  "  That  excuses  Mamma's  saying  Papa 
must  take  care  of  you.  Now  I  shall  send  for  a  cab.  You 
can't  go  much  farther  in  that  dress." 

"  Won't  you  come  with  me,  Jane?  I  hardly  know  your 
aunt." 

"  I  can't :  I  don't  want  Henry  to  know ;  he  is  already 
sufficiently  worried  about  his  promotion.  It  is  as  likely  as 
not  Aunt  Gratia  will  tell,  for  she  can't  keep  a  quiet  tongue 
in  her  head.  But  we  must  risk  that.  I  really  think  it  is 
the  best  thing  for  you  to  spend  the  night  in  a  neutral  house. 
Why,  they  may  be  here  at  any  moment,  inquiring  for  you  ! " 

"  They  may,"  screamed  Cecile,  starting  up,  as  if  she 
already  heard  footsteps  in  the  street.  "  Save  me,  dearest, 
for  your  children's  sake !  Oh,  Jane,  hov>'  long  the  cab  is 
coming ! " 

"  I  have  sent  for  it,"  said  Jane  soothingly.  "  I  daresay 
Topsy  has  told  them  you  were  in  bed  with  a  headache." 


A   HUNTED   HARE.  427 

"  I  couldu't  lock  my  own  door,"  said  Cecile,  and  then 
silence  lay  heavy  between  them  till  the  cab  came  lumbering 
round. 

The  Freule  Alette  van  "Weylert  and  the  Freule  Gratia  van 
Rexelaer  were  sitting  quietly  and  comfortably  in  the  former's 
softly  lightly,  thickly  curtained,  darkly  furnished  back 
drawing-room.  Each  elderly  lady  had  her  knitting  beside 
her  and  in  front  of  her  a  costly  old  Japanese  plate,  from 
which  she  had  just  partaken  of  her  nightly  flavourless 
"joap."  The  knitting  was  missionary  kniiting.  The 
Freule  Eexelaer  was  very  tliin  and  frail,  the  Freule  Weylert 
broad  and  substantial.  At  the  Freule  Weylert's  elbow  lay 
a  great  gilt  Bible  from  which  she  was  about  to  read  a  chap- 
ter before  the  two  ladies  retired  to  rest.  The  Freule  was 
looking  for  her  spectacles.  The  gilt  clock  on  the  seven- 
teenth-century mantelpiece  sang  out  the  hour  of  eleven, 
and  its  great  Dutch  comrade  in  the  hall  boomed  adhesion. 

AVhen  Cecile  was  introduced,  the  reposeful  room,  the 
kind  faces  of  the  two  old  maids,  above  all  the  open  Bible, 
seemed  to  inspire  her  with  confidence.  She  gave  Jane's 
letter  to  the  Freule  Gratia.  The  Freule  Gratia  read  it  in 
silence  and  passed  it  on  to  the  Freule  Alette.  The  latter 
looked  up  at  Cecile,  over  her  spectacles,  and  nodded,  but  a 
firm  expression  settled  about  her  chin. 

"  You  can  certainly  stay  here  if  you  wish,  child,"  she 
said.  "Sit  down,  my  dear;  ring,  and  I  will  tell  them  to 
pay  the  cab.    .It's  no  use  wasting  money." 

"  I  promised  Jane  to  ask  you  to  tear  up  that  note, 
Freule,"  began  Cecile,  addressing  the  Freule  van  Rexelaer. 

"  Oh  but,  Cecile,  I  must  read  it  again." 

"  But  you  will,  after  that — won't  you  ? — because  I  prom- 
ised Jane  to  see  it  done." 

"  Now,  I  like  that,"  remarked  the  comfortable  mistress 
of  the  house,  "  always  keep  your  promises  and  don't  make 
any  you  can't  keep.     You  are  right  to  come  here,  my  dear. 


42S  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

Will  you  have  some  pap  ?  Xo  ?  Well,  I  must  tell  them  to 
air  you  a  bed.  I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to  put  up  with 
my  maid's  things.  Mine  would  hardly  fit  you."  She 
smiled. 

"  And  to-morrow  she  will  have  to  come  down  to  break- 
fast in  that  dress ! "  said  the  Freule  van  Rexelaer,  folding 
her  hands.  This  idea  seemed  esjiecially  to  preoccupy  the 
quiet  little  lady. 

"  She  can  send  to  your  sister-in-law's  to-morrow  and  she 
can  stay  here  as  long  as  she  likes,"  answered  Freule  van 
Weylert,  searching  for  the  place  in  her  Bible. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Alette.  And  quite  right. 
Only,  I  am  sorry.     My  sister-in-law  will  be  so  vexed." 

"  You  cannot  help  that,  nor  can  I.  Some  one  of  my 
relations  has  been  vexed  with  me  all  my  life.  You  cannot 
endeavour  to  act  right  and  please  relations  who  want  you  to 
act  wrong." 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  Freule  Gratia  hurriedly,  "  poor 
Cecile ! " 

The  mistress  of  the  house  settled  her  spectacles  on  her 
nose,  and  once  again  shot  across  one  of  those  sharp  glances 
at  Cecile. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  "I  am  very  rheumatic.  Would 
you  come  here  for  a  moment  ?  I  should  like  to  give  you  a 
kiss."  And,  as  the  young  girl  bent  over  her,  Freule  Alette, 
looking  up  into  her  troubled  face,  laid  one  hand  on  the 
open  volume. 

"  Do  you  know,  at  all,"  she  asked,  "  where  to  look  for 
comfort  in  the  sorest  trouble  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Cecile  verv  softlv. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

THE    baron's   CONFESSIOlSr. 

When^  "  Pelgrim's  "  correspondent  had  not  written  for 
three  weeks  he  began  to  find,  out  how  much  he  missed  her 
letters.  "  I  am  vain,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  we  sometimes 
do,  liking  ourselves  for  saying  it.  But  this  poet  was  not 
spoilt  by  over-encouragement.  Literary  men  did  not  see 
"  The  Cry." 

He  felt  quite  glad  one  morning  to  find  the  familiar 
handwriting  awaiting  him.  "  I  do  not  know  why  I  write," 
said  the  letter,  "  I  had  made  up  my  mind  not  to  address 
you  again,  but  how  often  have  I  not  done  that,  and  torn  up 
the  page  !  There  seems  some  bond  between  you  and  me ; 
you  have  robbed  me  of  my  old  reliance  ;  I  am  looking  to 
you  for  future  strength.  I  am  weary  of  the  old  dead  great- 
ness; you,  the  plebeian,  though  you  cannot  understand  us, 
you  have  taught  me  that  each  man's  own  soul  is  his  only 
pride  or  shame.  There  is  no  outward  splendour,  no  adven- 
titious sorrow,  there  is  nothing  in  all  the  world  but  this 
naked  '  I '  and  God.  It  is  naturally  a  lesson  for  a  man  of 
the  people  to  teach. 

"  For  that  you  are  a  man  of  the  people  all  your  poems 
prove.  That  you  are  no  longer  young  I  knew  when  first  I 
wrote  ;  for  a  moment  I  was  led  to  doubt,  but  your  last 
verses  again  proclaim  me  right.  I  can  now  say  frankly  that 
I  like  you.     I  am  sure  you  are  a  good  man." 

The  poet  smiled  as  he  folded  up  the  sheet. 

"  She  jumps  at  conclusions,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Poor 
old  lady,  she  is  charmingly  prude !  " 


430  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

Spangenberg  was  up  again  and  hard  at  work.  His  first 
week  was  spent  in  alternate  disapi^roval  of  AVonnema  and 
commendation  of  Piet.  "  I  should  certainly  send  Wonnema 
about  his  business,"  Spangenberg  confessed  to  Volkert,  "  if 
I  could  take  away  his  children's  appetites  first."  So  AYon- 
nema  stayed.  "  I've  had  my  say,"  said  the  clerk  unrepent- 
antly.  Like  so  many,  he  was  a  "  personal  "  socialist,  made 
such  by  personal  wrong.  His  master,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  a  practical,  hard-working  idealist,  striving  by  all  the 
means  in  his  power  to  embody  his  beautiful  hopes.  Piet 
Poster,  poor  fellow,  was  devoid  of  political  opinions.  He 
saw  the  nearest  duty  and  did  it. 

He  was  working  desperately  hard  just  now  for  his  Law- 
examination.  "  And  when  you  are  a  notary  and  a  gentle- 
man, Piet,"  Spangenberg  once  said  to  him,  laughing,  "  you 
can  propose  for  the  hand  of  your  Freule."  "  Don't,  sir, 
l^lease,"  said  Piet,  scribbling  hard.  The  lawyer  was  going 
to  add  something  about  a  better-dowered  bride,  but  a  look 
at  the  young  clerk's  face  suddenly  checked  him.  "  My  ill- 
ness has  thrown  back  the  Baron's  business,"  he  merely  said 
as  he  turned  awa}'. 

Certainly  Wendela  would  not  prove  a  well-dowered  bride. 
"  Fifty  cents  an  hour,"  declared  the  butcher's  lady,  "  is  more 
than  sufficient  remuneration  in  the  case  of  a  young  person 
who  is  more  remarkable  for  her  airs  than  for  her  tunes." 
Wendela  had  a  hard  time  of  it  with  the  butcher's  lady,  but 
she  honestly  did  her  best,  and  fortunately  she  was  too  proud 
to  feel  offended  at  the  woman's  vulgarity.  "  The  girls  don't 
improve,"  said  the  butcher's  wife,  "  in  spite  of  their  excep- 
tional talent."  "Would  you  wish  to  stop  the  lessons?" 
asked  Wendela,  lifting  indifferent  eyes  to  the  fat,  red  face 
above  the  piano.  "  Xo,  Juffrouw,  but  for  you  to  take  more 
pains,"  said  the  woman,  glorying  in  the  deeply  Dutch 
insult  of  that  "  Juffrouw  "  to  the  daughter  of  the  Eexelaers. 

Wendela  hurried  home  to  build  up  the  imposing  struc- 


THE  BARON'S  CONFESSION.  431 

ture  of  her  mother's  snow-white  coiffure.  It  is  a  ridiculous- 
ly small  detail,  but  it  came  back  every  day,  remorselessly. 

"  It  can't  be  helped,"  said  Wendela.  We  never  say  that 
till  the  spirit  of  protest  awakens  within  us.  But  hers  sank 
to  rest  again  as  she  looked  across  at  her  father  and  heard 
him  telling  how  pleased  he  was  that  one  of  his  little  Jews 
had  repeated  the  verb  "  aimer  "  without  a  single  hitch.  Yet 
again  she  reasoned  :  "  He  has  brought  his  trials  on  himself. 
/  am  innocent."  That  thought  was  the  long  sorrow  of  her 
life,  worse,  a  thousand  times  worse,  than  the  loss  of  all  the 
rest.  She  was  angry  with  this  estimable,  this  beautiful  old 
man  ;  and  in  the  daily  presence  of  his  virtues  she  hated  her 
bootless  wrath.  From  a  few  careless  words,  caught  up  at  the 
time  of  the  loss  of  the  Castle  and  erroneously  interpreted, 
she  had  gained  an  impression  that  her  father  had  wasted  his 
property.  She  did  not  know  what  "  speculation  "  meant, 
but  she  knew  it  to  be  a  very  wicked  sin.  Was  her  mother 
aware  of  her  father's  crime  ?  She  fancied  not.  Even  in 
her  childhood  she  had  hidden  away  his  guilt  and  wept  over 
it  and  prayed  till  all  faith  in  prayer  died  away  in  her  heart. 

The  Baron  tottered  feebly  across  the  dingy  room,  from 
his  chair  to  the  window,  from  the  window  to  his  chair. 
"  It  is  quite  amusing,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  to  watch  the 
movement  on  the  canal.  Human  activity,  after  all,  is 
more  interesting  than  stones  and  trees.  Let  me  wheel  you 
into  the  sunshine."  The  Baroness  roused  herself  with  an 
effort.  She  hated  the  canal.  "  It  smells  " ;  that  was  all 
the  impression  it  conveyed  to  her,  even  while  March  winds 
still  kept  the  windows  closed.  But  when  spring  came 
round,  the  slow  Dutch  spring,  and  the  watery  sun  peeped 
out  from  time  to  time  and  a  couple  of  consumptive  trees 
began  to  swell  a  little  at  their  finger-tips,  what  did  she  say 
then?  Tlie  overpowering  odour  of  garbage  penetrated 
everywhere,  and  yet  it  was  but  a  herald  of  the  fcetid  op- 
pression which  summer  would  bring.  Even  the  Baron 
grew  sorrowful  with  the  approach  of  the  mild  weather.    He 


432  TOE  GREATER  GLORY. 

liad  been  contented  in  the  city  while  nature  still  lay  dead. 
But  the  breaking  of  the  poor  grey-green  shimmer  over  the 
canal- trees  seemed  to  stir  him  in  the  depths  of  his  soul. 
He  would  sit  looking  out  for  hours,  but  no  longer  at  the 
bustle  of  human  activity — at  green  fields,  perhaps,  and  golden 
buttercups ?  "I  should  like  to  see  some  grass  again,"  he 
once  said,  not  to  his  wife  or  daughter,  but  to  a  new  friend 
who  came  in  of  evenings,  the  landlady's  only  other  lodger, 
besides  Piet.  And  one  day  he  brought  home  a  little  pot  of 
pale  mauve  crocuses  ;  mother  and  daughter  looked  up  in 
amazement  at  such  extravagance.  But  next  morning  he 
gave  it  away  again,  to  one  of  his  little  Jew-boys. 

JuSrouw  Donders's  other  lodger  had  been  with  her  for 
thirty  years,  as  she  was  proud  of  repeating  to  all  and 
sundry.  He  had  gone,  fresh  from  the  Amsterdam  "  Athe- 
nffium,"  to  teach  Greek  and  Latin  to  the  lowest  form  at  the 
Amsterdam  Grammar  School,  and  he  was  teaching  there 
still.  Boys  might  come  and  boys  might  go,  but  he  went  on 
for  ever.  On  that  evening  when  the  crocuses  were  spread- 
ing their  promise  of  summer  all  over  the  place,  this  gentle- 
man dropped  in  for  a  chat.  "  Oh — ah,  flowers  ! "  he  said. 
"  I  find  they  vitiate  the  air  so."  He  knew  the  way  from 
the  Canal  of  the  Eoses  to  the  Grammar  School  and  round 
home  by  his  five-o'clock  ordinary.  He  must  have  been 
aware  that  the  world  was  bigger,  because  he  himself  had 
been  born  on  the  other  side  of  Amsterdam,  and  Amsterdam 
is  a  large  city,  but,  if  he  knew,  he  kept  the  secret  well. 

Between  the  Baron  and  his  fellow-lodger,  who,  by-the- 
bye,  had  mistaken  the  crocuses  for  tulips,  there  was  nothing 
in  common  but  the  house  they  lived  in,  a  strong  bond  in 
itself.  The  two  would  sit  smoking  their  pipes  together, 
and  once  the  old  gentleman  treated  his  guest  to  a  glass  of 
"  the  King's  Wine."  There  were  only  half  a  dozen  bottles 
left,  which  the  Baron  had  refused  to  sell. 

And  they  would  converse  on  trifles.  The  Baron  rarely 
reverted  to  his  brighter  past  or  dwelt  upon   his   present 


THE  BARON'S  CONFESSION.  433 

troubles.  If  anyone  spoke  of  troubles,  it  Avas  the  old  school- 
master, Avho  had  never  been  able"  to  manage  his  class — 
surely  no  creature  on  earth  is  worthier  commiseration.  "It 
must  be  so  hard  to  teach  bigger  boys,"  said  the  Baron 
sympathetically.  "  My  little  fellows  were  tiresome  at  first, 
till  I  told  them  very  seriously  how  sorry  I  should  be  if  we 
did  not  get  on  well.  Big  boys,  of  course,  would  have  paid 
no  attention  to  that." 

Though  the  Baron  did  not  speak  of  his  fallen  greatness, 
Gustave  proclaimed  to  all  the  neighbourhood  what  a  very 
great  man  the  Baron  was.  The  neighbours  would  look  up, 
in  vague  curiosity,  for  a  glimpse  of  where  he  sat,  behind 
the  small-paned  window,  scrupulously  tidy  and  venerably 
white.  And  some  of  them  would  take  off  their  hats.  That 
reminded  the  Baron  of  Deynum,  and  hugely  delighted 
him.  "  The  world  is  full  of  good  people,"  the  Baron 
said. 

"  Is  it  true,  Mynheer,"  asked  Dr.  Barten,  the  school- 
master, one  evening,  "  that '  Ipsa  glorior  infamia '  is  the 
motto  of  your  noble  house  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Baron  curtly,  shrinking  from  the  sub- 
ject. 

"  Then,  it  ought  to  have  been  *  ignominia,'  Mynheer." 

The  Baron  was  very  much  taken  aback.  "  Why  V  "  he 
asked,  and  his  hand  trembled. 

"  Infamia  is  used  of  some  inner,  moral  shame,"  ex- 
pounded the  pedagogue  with  great  relish,  "  Ignominia  of  an 
outer  perceptible  blot.     The  latter  is  evidently  intended." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  the  Baron  sadly.  "  It  has 
always  been  infamia." 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  pity ;  with  dead  languages  we  should  be 
particularly  careful,  for  they  cannot  look  after  themselves. 
But,  whether  in  ignominy  or  infamy,  undoubtedly,  dear 
Baron,  the  right  to  glory  is  yours." 

"  Xo,  no,"  said  the  Baron  disconsolately,  "  so  even  that 
is  wronsr." 


434  THE   GREATER  GLORY. 

A  couple  of  diiys  later  he  came  to  the  Baroness  after  his 
morning's  lesson.  "  ^ly  dear,"  he  said,  "  the  little  bo3's  are 
not  coming  back  any  more.  I  do  not  think  it  is  right  to  take 
money  for  teaching  them  and  then  not  to  do  it.  The  last  few- 
times  I  have  not  been  able  ;  my  head  gets  too  tired.  They 
are  very  good  and  do  their  best,  but  this  morning  I  told 
them  they  must  not  come  to-morrow.  I  was  sorry,  and 
they  cried.  But  I  must  write  to  their  parents.  And  God 
will  take  care  of  us." 

The  Baroness  looked  up  at  him  but  did  not  speak. 

"  And,  my  dear,"  he  went  on  quietly,  "  there  is  some- 
thing else  I  want  to  tell  you ;  I  can  choose  no  better  mo- 
ment. Your  own  money,  dearest,  I  used  it — in  speculation 
— to  avert  the  sale.  It  was  very  foolish  of  me,  very  wicked. 
I  have  seen  of  late  how  surely  my  pride  has  worked  my 
ruin.  Lest  disgrace  should  fall  upon  my  head,  I  have 
heaped  it  on  my  soul." 

He  stopped  speaking,  his  voice  tremulous,  his  head 
bowed.     "  I  knew  it,"  said  the  Baroness. 

The  words  startled  him  in  their  calmness.  "  Knew  it," 
he  stammered. 

"  I  knew,"  continued  the  Baroness  simply,  "  that  the 
money  had  been  there  and  I  saw  it  was  gone.  Xever  mind, 
dear ;  it  was  not  much." 

"  Gertrude,"  he  murmured,  "  you  will  love  me  to  the 
end — will  you  not  ? — as  you  have  alwa^'s  done.  It  is  only  a 
little  way." 

And  then  the  old  lady  began  to  cry.  The  husband  had 
to  find  her  pocket-handkerchief  and  wipe  the  tears  from  her 
stiff,  pale  face.  There  was  rain  beating  against  the  win- 
dows.    The  lodging-house  room  was  full  of  a  murky  mist. 

~Sext  morning  the  Baron  did  not  get  up,  and  "Wendela, 
in  the  pauses  between  her  lessons,  had  two  of  them  to 
nurse. 


CHAPTER  LX. 

REKSELAAR. 

"  I  FEAR  the  contents  of  this  letter  will  surprise  and  vex 
you.  I  entreat  you  to  believe  that  not  for  one  moment  did 
I  foresee  the  possibility  of  asking  you  a  favour  when  I 
began  our  correspondence,  if  correspondence  it  can  be 
called. 

"  Yes,  I  am  asking  you  a  favour.  You  are  a  literary 
man,  an  associate  of  literary  men.  Could  you  procure  me 
copying  or  translation  or  some  such  work  ?  You  can  judge 
of  my  hand-writing.  It  is  true,  as  I  told  you,  that  I  am  a 
woman  of  high  rank — doubtless,  you  dislike  me  on  that  ac- 
count— but  I  am  also  a  woman  in  great  poverty,  struggling 
to  earn  a  livelihood  ;  and  for  that  you  will  think  none  the 
Avorse  of  me.  I  am  not- ashamed  to  claim  your  help;  if  you 
can  assist  me,  appoint  some  place  of  meeting,  but  promise 
on  your  word  of  honour  never  to  find  out  my  name  or  ad- 
dress." 

Volkert  placed  an  advertisement  in  tlie  following  num- 
ber of  "  The  Cry."  "  Come  to  Mcvrouw  Morel's,  5  Little 
Paradise,  to-morrow  at  noon."  "  She  will  be  surprised,"  he 
thought  to  himself  with  a  smile,  "  to  see  her  kind  old  man." 
His  interest  in  his  unknown  admirer  definitely  sank  under 
her  request  for  "  literary  work."  He  could  easily  picture 
the  kind  of  creature,  ringlcttcd,  mittcncd,  melancholy,  old- 
maidish. 

At  the  appointed  time  he  went  to  Mevrouw  Morel's. 
29 


436  TilK   GREATER  GLOKV. 

"  I  am  so  thaukf  ul  you  are  willing  to  protect  me,"  he  said, 
"  I  feel  horribly  nervous."  "  And  to  protect  the  lady, 
eh  ? "  retorted  Mevrouw.  "  Quite  so,"  said  Volkert 
gravely. 

Punctually  at  uoon  a  ring  at  the  street-bell  announced 
the  aspirant  for  hard  labour  on  bread  and  water.  "  I  like 
that,"  said  Mevrouw  Morel,  "  you  can  do  twice  as  much,  if 
only  you  are  precise."  A  quick  footstep  was  heard  ascend- 
ing the  stairs ;  the  room-door  was  thrown  open,  a  tall,  strik- 
ing-looking girl  appeared  on  the  threshold,  stopped,  gave  a 
sharp  glance  at  the  couple  who  rose  to  receive  her,  turned 
and  fled  downstairs  again,  flinging-to  the  door. 

Mevrouw  Morel  remained  staring  at  her  companion, 
with  round  eyes  of  amazement. 

"  Wendela ! "  said  the  young  man  aloud,  to  himself,  in 
utter  discomfiture. 

"  What  is  it?  I  don't  understand.  How  absurd  !  Tell 
me  quick,"  cried  little  Mevrouw  Morel,  her  comely  face 
alive  with  curiosity. 

"  I  have  met  that  young  lady  before,"  answered  the 
poet.  "  More,  dear  Mevrouw,  I  myself  do  not  under- 
stand." 

Piet  Poster,  standing  expectant  outside,  every  nerve  on 
the  "  qui-vive,"  was  terrified  to  see  the  Freule  van  Rexelaer 
come  rushing  down,  her  face  aflame. 

"  But,  Freule,"  he  burst  out,  "  what  has  hap- 
pened? You  promised  to  warn  me  immediately.  You 
haven't  been  gone  ten  seconds.  Let  me  run  up  and 
punch " 

"No,  no,  Piet,"  cried  Wendela,  "nothing  is  wrong. 
Only  come  away  quick,  I  beg  of  you.  I  don't  want  to  re- 
main in  this  place  one  moment  longer !  " 

So  this  time  Piet  Poster  did  not  demolish  the  enemy. 
In  the  silence  of  their  rapid  homeward  walk  the  Freule  once 
only   interrogatively  ejaculated  :    "  Pelgrim  !  "   and  Poster, 


REKSELAAR.  437 

sliyly  glancing  sideways,  saw  fresh  blushes  mantle  her  crim- 
son cheek. 

The  young  poet  walked  across  to  the  office,  altogether 
bewildered,  and  sat  down  in  Spangenberg's  room.  Vainly 
he  knit  his  eyebrows  over  this  new  experience ;  he  could 
understand  nothing  of  the  Freule  van  Eexelaer's  need. 
But  an  immense  pity  and  kindness  filled  his- impulsive 
heart. 

Presently  Spangenberg  arrived  in  a  state  of  supreme 
elation.  "  Hurrah  !  "  he  cried,  as  soon  as  he  saw  his  friend. 
"  Can  you  keep  a  secret,  a  secret  which  all  the  town  will 
know  in  a  day  or  two  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  can  keep  a  secret,"  replied  the  other  testily, 
thinking  he  knew  too  many  already. 

"  No,  but  mine  is  one  worth  knowing,  one  I  enjoy  so 
much  I  want  you  to  enjoy  it  too.  We  have  heard — too 
much  of  late,  and  little  thanks  to  Wonnema  ! — of  the  Man- 
darin Ei-Ksi-La,  His  Excellency  the  Count  of  Deynum, 
Lord  of  the  August  Household  of  our  sovereign  Liege,  the 
King." 

"  We  have,"  said  the  other.  "  Too  much.  Let  us  talk 
of  something  else." 

"  Stupid  fellow,  luckily  for  you  I  know  and  forgive  your 
surly  humours.  You  deserve  to  miss  the  story.  Well,  this 
cliiof  of  one  of  the  oldest,  noblest  families  of  Europe — tlie 
van  Eexelaers  are  that, — are  they  not  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  acquiesced  the  other  wearily. 

"  Quite  so — is  the  grandson  of  an  innkeeper  in  a  hamlet 
near  the  frontier,  a  gin-shop-man  called  Eekselaar  " — he 
spelt  the  word — "  just  simple  Mathew  Eekselaar,  not  even 
connected,  as  you  see,  by  name  with  the  great  historic  race." 

"  Another  lie  of  W^onnema's,"  said  Christian's  com- 
panion calmly.  "  One  would  feel  for  Count  van  Eexelaer, 
if  only  on  account  of  this  vulgar  persecution.  For  shame, 
Spangenberg,  you  are  as  bad  as  your  clerk  !  " 


438  '^'IH'^   GREATER  GLORY. 

"  His  Excellency  is  a  worthy  object  of  your  sympathy," 
begun  Christian  in  a  scornful  tone. 

"  He  is,"  burst  in  the  other  with  unexpected  violence. 

"  Do  I  not  say  so  ?  liut,  Pelgrim,  you  sliouhl  not  pre- 
sume that  I  find  such  delight  in  slander.  I  had  excellent 
reason  to  sift  this  matter,  and  thereby  do  yeoman  service 
to  a  worthy  man,  a  real  noble,  as  it  happens — I,  Christian 
Spangenberg,  is  that  not  a  freak  of  fate?  It  apjjears  there 
was  an  error  in  the  register  at  first,  the  fault  of  some  rustic 
clerk,  and  his  present  Lordship's  father  quietly  added  the 
'  van.'  Nothing  easier,  as  everyone  knows,  than  to  effect  an 
erroneous  entry  in  the  registers,  nothing  harder  than  to  get 
it  remedied  later  on.  This  family,  you  may  be  sure,  has 
never  filed  an  application.  It  was  the  gin-seller's  son  who 
worked  himself  up  the  backstairs  into  the  palace  ;  he  had 
an  exceedingly  handsome  wife,  a  haberdasher's  daughter — 
there  are  nasty  stories  why  he  got  his  Countship,  but  that's 
slander ;  I  stick  to  business." 

"  Well,  the  title  is  genuine  then,  at  any  rate,"  cried  the 
Count  Eexelaer's  champion,  turning  a  hot  face,  for  one 
moment,  towards  the  lawyer. 

"  The  new  title  is  genuine,  of  course.  Nothing  surprises 
one  more  than  the  ease  with  which  upstarts  start  up.  Be- 
sides half  a  dozen  genealogists,  whose  hobby  is  quite  out  of 
fashion,  who  knows  that  this  Holy  Roman  Count  is  the 
coarsest  of  shams  ?  What,  then,  will  his  Lordship  say  to 
see  his  gin-selling,  tape-selling  grandsires  uncoffined  and 
his  own  name  published  in  print,  corrected  and  revised  up 
to  date?" 

"  I  said  too  little,"  declared  the  other  bitterly.  "  You 
are  worse  than  Wonnema." 

"And  why  have  I  ferreted  out  all  this?  The  great  lord 
Avho  arouses  your  pity,  not  content  with  stealing  the  real 
Eexelaer's  name  and  acquiring  his  property  you  know  how, 
has  used  the  confusion  obtained  by  fraud  to  seize  on  a  reve- 
nue due  to  the  head  of  the  house,  for  he  poses  as  such.     He 


REKSELAAR.  439 

has  broil  gilt  down  his  innocent  rivals  from  honourable 
poverty  to  honourable  privation.  "Whilst  rolling  in  his  filthy 
2)rosperity,  second  only  to  the  Sovereign,  honoured,  flattered 
and  envied,  he  is  stealing  their  last  crust  from  these  people 
who  have  never  even  risen  against  the  lie  of  his  life.  Evi- 
dently he  hates  them  ;  perhaps  for  that  reason.  It  is  said 
that  his  wife  is  no  better  than  he.  It  is  said  there  is  a  son. 
Poor  fellow,  I  pity  him.  Perhaps  he  will  never  find  out  the 
truth  ;  let  us  hope,  if  he  does,  he  will  take  after  his  father 
sufficiently  not  to  care.  God  help  him,  else  " — the  young 
editor  was  violently  excited — "  I  would  rather  be  one  of  my 
match-boys  in  the  streets  of  Amsterdam  than  that  man's 
pampered,  envied,  blood-and-dirt-nnrtured  heir  !  " 

"  For  God's  sake,  stop  ! "  cried  tlie  other,  facing  round. 
"  I  am  he." 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

"  HE   LEADETH    ME    IX   GREEX    PASTURES." 

"  Let  us  go  at  ouce  and  tell  him,''  said  "  Volkert"  ten 
minutes  later.  "Let  me  tell  him;  it  is  my  right.  I  am 
sure  my  father  will  refund  the  money,  as  soon  as  he  under- 
stands." Spangenberg  let  this  view  pass  ;  he  had  never 
pitied  Pelgrim  Volkert  half  as  much  as  he  pitied  the 
Jonker  Keinout  Rexelaer. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  the  fact  that  the  different  spell- 
ing can  be  proved  nullifies  any  claim  to  '  the  Lady's  Dole.' 
It  was  not  so  easy  to  unearth  the  evidence.  Piet  Poster 
has  done  the  greater  part,  travelling  round  from  village  to 
village,  till  he  found  the  right  place  and  right  entry  at  last. 
He  could  not  have  worked  with  greater  energy,  had  he 
been  working  for  himself." 

"  But  if  these  things  were  so,"  protested  Eeinout,  "  I 
cannot  understand  the  Baron's  not  showing  us  w]}  be- 
fore." 

"  You  would,  if  you  knew  him.  He  would  never  have 
stirred  even  now,  had  you  left  him  bread  to  eat.  He  told 
me  himself  :  '  Count  Rexelaer's  family  history  is  his  busi- 
ness, notinine.  I  need  not  expose  its  seamy  side  because  his 
wife  was  her  uncle's  heiress.'  That's  the  kind  of  man  the 
Baron  is." 

"  But  the  pedigree  in  the  hall  at  home,"  groaned  Rein- 
out.  "  I  have  known  it  since  my  birth.  All  our  ancestors 
up  to  Rovert,  the  Protestant,  who  joins  on  to  the  main  line 
with  Ruwert,  his  Catholic  brother  ?    I  cannot  believe  you. 


"HE   LEADETH   ME  IN   GREEN   PASTURES."       441 

It  is  all  worked  out  and  printed  in  the  Archives  of  the  No- 
bles of  Holland.     It  is  matter  of  history." 

"  History  will  be  none  the  worse  for  a  few  lies  more  or 
less,"  said  Spangenberg,  smiling  sadly.  "As  for  you,  you 
will  be  a  Count  when  your  father  dies.  You  must  be  con- 
tent with  that." 

Eeinout  lifted  his  eyes  and  slowly  fixed  them  upon  his 
friend.     Their  depths  were  swelling  with  mute  despair. 

Christian  rose  hurriedly,  unable  to  endure  more.  "Dear 
old  fellow,"  he  said,  unsteadily,  "  no  one  can  help  you  but 
yourself,"  and  then  he  hurried  away,  lest  the  other  should 
see  him  break  down. 

When  he  came  back  several  hours  later,  in  the  evening, 
he  found  Eeinout  sitting  just  as  he  had  left  him,  moodily 
pensive,  with  folded  arms.  At  the  noise  of  the  opening  door 
the  Jonker  roused  himself.  "  I  want  to  go — at  once — "  he 
said,  "  to  Baron  Eexelaer.  Christian,  you  must  take  me 
there." 

"  Very  well,"  acquiesced  Spangenberg,  secretly  delighted. 
"  I  was  going  to-night,  in  any  case,  to  tell  of  my  success." 
So,  presently,  they  started  together. 

"  There's  a  little  waiting-room,"  said  Christian,  as  they 
neared  the  house,  "  where  you'd  better  wait  a  minute  while 
I  ask  permission  to  brii]g  you  in.  But  first  I  must  toll  bim 
about  the  '  Dole.'  " 

The  pair  passed  down  the  long,  ill-lighted  corridor. 

"  That's  the  door,"  nodded  Christian.  "  There's  never 
anybody  there.     I'll  be  back  in  a  minute." 

Eeinout  turned  the  handle  and  found  himself  once  more 
— in  a  little  box  of  a  room — face  to  face  with  the  Freulo 
Wendela.  The  girl  was  concocting  some  mess  or  medicine 
she  needed  for  lier  invalids.  She  put  down  the  cup  on  the 
table.  "And  so  this  is  the  way,"  she  said,  trembling,  "in 
which  you  keep  your  word,  Mynheer  ?  "     He  paused  on  the 


442  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

threshold,  secure  in  the  thought  that  she  could  not  pass  him. 
"  I  had  uo  idea,"  he  stammered  hurriedl}-.  "  I  beg  of  you 
to  believe  me.  I  came  to  see  your  father.  You  misjudge 
me;  it  is  only  natural,  but  I  swear  that  you  misjudge  me ! " 
The  spirit  lamp  boiled  over  in  a  spreading  splutter.  He 
bent  to  extinguish  the  flame,  and  she  caught  uj)  her  cu]^  and 
left  him  without  another  word. 

He  heard  her  speaking  to  Spangenberg  outside.  "  I 
thought  you  were  the  doctor,"  she  was  saying.  "  You  will 
find  him  very  ill." 

Eeinout  waited  for  several  minutes  in  the  bare  little 
room,  which  was  not  much  more  than  a  cupboard  for  hats 
and  cloaks.  The  pale  wall-paper  had  lost  its  pattern  ;  the 
blind  hung  torn  and  crooked,  there  was  a  hole  in  the  shabby 
oil-cloth  where  the  boards  came  staring  through.  He  stood 
beside  a  bright-green,  varnished  table,  full  of  stains,  a  very 
epitome,  it  seemed  to  him,  of  vulgarly  pretentious  poverty. 
That  dirty,  gaudy  table  brought  home  to  him  his  father's 
guilt  as  nothing  else  had  done.  He  turned  away  from  it  to 
the  open  window.  A  mean  little  back-yard  with  tall  houses 
close  behind  it,  a  coujole  of  brilliant  flower-pots  on  lofty  win- 
dow-sills, enhancing,  not  amending,  the  misery  around,  here 
and  there  an  overhanging  towel  or  a  barefaced  sjDonge,  the 
whole  of  it  gaunt  and  squalid  under  the  early-fading  light. 

The  weather  was  soft  and  warm  ;  after  a  mild  ]\ray-day 
of  fruitful  rain  the  clouds  were  lifting,  and  under  slowly 
gathering  shadows  the  slumbrous  earth  lay  hushed,  heavy 
with  the  travail  of  nascent  life  through  every  fibre  of  her 
being. 

Christian  opened  the  door  and  looked  in.  His  energetic 
countenance  was  solemnized  into  repose.  "  Come,"  he  said, 
"  I  have  told  him  about  you.  He  is  willing  to  see  you." 
Eeinout  followed  into  an  adjoining  chamber,  and  there, 
propped  up  on  the  pillows  of  a  green-curtained  lodging- 
house  bed,  he  saw  lying  the  gentle  yet  haughty  face  he  had 
so  often  admired  in  silence  at  Deynum.     Seated  at  the  head 


"HE   LEADETH   ME   IN   GREEN   PASTURES."       443 

of  the  bed  was  the  Baroness,  straiglit  and  still ;  behind  her 
stood  Wendela  ;  the  Freule  had  been  weeping.  And  at  the 
other  end  of  the  small  room,  in  the  background,  Eeinout 
noticed,  with  a  touch  of  surprise,  Father  Bulbius,  the  par- 
ish-priest from  "  home." 

That  morning  the  Baron  had  asked  them  to  send  for 
Father  Bulbius.  "  I  did  not  want  to  ask  too  soon,"  he  had 
said, "  but  I  want  to  ask  to-day."  When  the  telegram  came, 
Veronica  had  of  course  said  :  "  No."  Her  rule  seemed  ab- 
solute now-a-days,  and  she  at  once  explained  to  the  Father 
that  he  was  hardly  feeling  well.  "  I  should  go  if  I  were 
dead,"  Father  Bulbius  had  answered  fiercely,  and  the  pim- 
ple on  his  face  had  openly  scowled  at  Veronica. 

All  through  the  day  the  Baron  had  lain  quiet,  waiting 
for  his  old  friend.  His  wife  thought  he  was  dozing.  To- 
wards evening  he  roused  himself  and  called  to  Wendela. 
"  There  is  a  paper  in  my  desk  I  should -like  to  have,"  he 
said,  "  under  several  others,  in  the  left-hand  corner.  Yes, 
thank  you.  That  is  it."  He  waited  until  once  more  alone 
with  the  Baroness,  who  sat  immovable  by  his  side.  "  Ger- 
trude," he  then  began,  "  you  know  this  parcel.  The  state- 
ment it  contains  of  Count  Eexelaer's  conduct  towards  us  is 
accurate,  and,  I  honestly  believe,  impartial.  I  have  resisted 
your  suggestion  to  send  it  to  the  King  and  now  I  can  tell 
you  why.  I  had  always  intended  to  do  so  at  my  death, 
hoping  that  from  it  some  provision  might  result  for  you. 
That  is  my  one  great  sorrow  that  I  must  leave  you  like  this. 
But  now  the  moment  has  come,  I  don't  want  to  seek  help 
for  you  and  Wendela  by  what,  if  not  exactly  an  evil  ac- 
tion, is  at  least  an  ungenerous  one.  Gertrude,  I  want 
your  permission  to  tear  up  this  document.  God  will 
provide." 

The  Baroness  could  not  answer  him.  "  ]\ray  I?"  he 
asked,  holding  up  the  papers.  )She  bent  her  head.  An  ex- 
pression of  great  relief  came  over  the  sick  man's  features  as 
he  sank  back  in  his  pillows  and  lay  slowly  destroying  the 


444  'J'lIE   GRf:ATER  GLORY. 

memorial  on  which  he  had  spent  many  hiborious  hours. 
He  had  always  been  sluggish  with  his  pen. 

He  was  able  to  speak  quite  calmly  with  Father  Bulbius, 
when  that  gentleman  arrived,  towards  Evening,  hot  with 
travelling  and  anxiety.  "  It  was  like  you  to  come  at  once," 
he  said.  "  I  believe,  dear  Father,  that  I  have  not  long  to 
live.  Since  my  last  stroke,  three  weeks  ago,  I  have  been 
very  tired.  Yes,  I  had  another  stroke,  or  fit,  or  whatever 
the  doctors  call  it ;  fortunately  Gustave  alone  was  with  me 
and  I  warned  him  not  to  tell.  I  am  ashamed  to  remember 
how  tired  I  was,  but  to-day  I  am  not  tired,  and  so  glad  to 
rest.  And  I  am  quite  willing,  Father,  to  do  all  that  the 
church  requires  of  me.  I  myself  cannot  think  that  God 
expects  much  more  from  us  than  humbly  to  cast  ourselves 
upon  His  mercy.  And  I  should  not  care  for  masses  to  be 
said  on  my  behalf.  But  I  do  not  wish  to  be  wiser  than 
others,  so  tell  me  what  you  would  have  me  do  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  the  last  sacrament  you  are  asking  for?"  said 
the  priest,  forcing  back  his  emotion. 

"  When  the  end  is  come,"  replied  the  Baron  quickly, 
"  we  must  not  shrink  from  the  end." 

Later  on  he  did  not  talk  much  with  anyone,  but  he  sud- 
denly beckoned  to  Bulbius.  "  Yoit  are  a  cleric,"  he  said. 
"  You  must  be  a  scholar.     Tell  me,  is  it '  ignominia '  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  dear  Baron  ?  "  asked  the  priest 
with  troubled  brow. 

"  Infamia,  you  know,  glorior  infamia?  They  have  been 
telling  me  that  it  was  ignominia.  The — the  outer  blot,  I 
think.     I  do  not  quite  understand.     Is  it  that?" 

"  Xo,  indeed,"  replied  the  priest,  with  warmth.  "  They 
who  speak  like  that  know  little  of  ns.  Obloquy  and  outer 
degradation,  smears  that  shift  with  every  phase  of  thinking, 
what  are  these  to  stir  a  Christian's  pulse?  With  your  an- 
cestor it  was  indeed  the  inner  humiliation,  as  the  children 
of  this  world  must  ever  deem  it,  that  revealed  itself  to  him 
as  the  hidden  cjlorv  of  God." 


'•HE  LEADETH  ME  IN  GREEN  PASTURES."   445 

"  [  am  glad  of  that,"  said  the  Baron  wearily,  "  It  has 
been  my  comfort  all  through  life  ;  I  did  not  like  to  think 
it  wrong.  But  the  things  that  I  have  gloried  in  are  after 
all  but  follies.  I  have  been  a  poor,  erring  creature.  God 
forgive  me.     It  is  better  like  that." 

And  then  Spangenberg  brought  the  news  that  Piet's 
quest  had  at  last  been  successful  and  that,  in  the  face  of 
accumulated  evidence,  the  money  would  be  restored.  Tlie 
Baron  said  little,  but  his  eyes  wandered  vaguely  towards 
a  side-table  on  which  the  torn  fragments  of  paper  yet  lay. 
"  I  am  glad  the  news  has  come  to-day,"  he  said.  "  Mynheer 
the  advocate,  I  am  deeply  grateful  for  your  aid."  He  was 
quite  willing  to  see  the  son  of  his  rival ;  they  brought  Eein- 
out  to  his  bedside. 

The  poor  fellow  threw  himself  down  on  his  knees,  not 
knowing  what  he  did,  in  a  passion  of  useless  contrition. 
All  the  blame  of  his  father's  actions  seemed  to  weigh  upon 
him,  the  heir,  and  to  crush  him.  On  all  sides,  wherever  he 
turned  his  gaze,  nothing  but  infamy  ! 

"  Forgive  me,"  he  murmured,  "  say  you  forgive  me.  I 
ask  your  foi'giveness  for  us  all." 

"My  poor  boy,  you  have  done  me  no  hurt,"  said  the 
Baron  gently. 

"  We  have,  we  have ;  I  cannot  separate  myself  from — 
them.  The  shame  is  ours;  the  curse  is  ours.  Say  you  for- 
give us.  I  have  no  right  to  ask,  no  right  but  my  exceeding 
need.  I  just  want  your  forgiveness,  and  then  I  will  leave 
you  in  peace." 

"  Surely,  if  there  be  anything  to  forgive,  I  gladly  for- 
give," said  the  Baron  in  trembling  accents.  Spangenberg 
drew  Reinout  away;  he  was  exciting  the  feeble  old  man  too 
much  by  the  violence  of  his  regret,  "  I  should  like  them  to 
give  me  a  little  wine,"  said  the  Baron,  "  I  should  like  Gus- 
tavo to  give  it  me."  Tlie  old  servant  brought,  with  bent 
head  and  unsteady  hand,  a  glass  of  the  King's  Wine.  His 
master  drank  half  of  it.     "  Take  the  rest,"  said  the  Baron. 


446  THE  greatp:r  glory. 

"You  remember,  (iustave?  lu  '30,  eh?  God  save  the 
King ! "  Gustave  saluted  silently,  unconsciously,  as  he 
lifted  the  wine-glass  to  his  trembling  lips. 

Outside,  the  shadows  were  beginning  to  deepen.  A 
confused  murmur  of  traffic  came  up  vaguely  from  the 
Canal.  Someone  had  opened  the  window  a  little,  for 
the  room  was  close  with  the  hot  May  air.  The  sti- 
fling Canal  smell,  rendered  all  the  heavier  by  the  day's 
moisture,  came  spreading  over  them  all.  Even  the  dy- 
ing man  seemed  to  perceive  it.  He  moved  restlessly  once 
or  twice. 

Presently  he  beckoned  to  Wendela.  "  I  should  like,"  he 
whispered,  "  to  shake  that  young  man  by  the  hand  before 
he  goes.  I  should  like  him  to  make  sure — no  malice  !  And 
there  is  still  one  thing  I  should  like  to  ask." 

And  so  AYendela  led  Eeinout  to  her  father  and  joined 
their  hands,  "  With  the  others  ?  "  murmured  the  old  man, 
eager  interrogation  in  his  eyes.  "In  the  Chapel?  Both. 
If  ever  you  have  the  power."  "  Yes,"  said  Eeinout  firmly. 
"  Let  us  go,"  whispered  Spangenberg  in  his  ear,  and  the  two 
friends  crept  out  of  the  room  together. 

The  Baron  sank  into  a  long,  calm  stupor,  holding  one  of 
his  wife's  hands  all  the  while. 

It  grew  quite  dark  in  the  room,  dark  and  stifling. 
Toward  midnight  he  ojiened  his  eyes  and  fixed  them  full 
on  the  dear,  white  face,  "  In  fields,"  he  said,  "  in  fair  green 
fields."    And  that  was  the  end. 

Wendela  and  her  mother  remained  alone.  There  were 
three  of  them  in  the  room  still,  and  yet  there  were  only  two. 
All  the  immensity  of  the  change  is  there. 

It  was  long  before  either  moved.  At  length  said  the 
Baroness  in  a  firm  voice  : 

"He  was  a  perfect  man.     "Without  reproach." 

Even  at  that  moment  Wendela  lifted  a  quick  look  of 
surprised  inquiry  to  her  motlier's  face.     It  was  only  a  flash, 


"HE   LEADETH   ME   IN   GREEN   PASTURES."       447 

and  immediately  slie  dropped  her  eyes  again.  But  tlie 
Baroness  had  seen  it. 

"  A  perfect  man,"  she  repeated  steadily.  "  Sometimes  I 
have  asked  myself  if  you  fully  understood  that.  All  the 
actions  of  his  life  lie  patent  before  me.  There  is  not  one  of 
them,  even  when  they  caused  me  the  most  serious  loss, 
which  was  not  perfectly  honourable  and  upright." 

Wendela  sank  down  beside  the  dead  man.  Her  mother 
knew,  then,  knew  far  more  than  she  did,  and  approved. 
"  Oh,  if  I  had  only  understood  one  day  sooner  !  "  she  cried 
in  a  sudden  tempest  of  tears.  "Only  a  day  sooner! 
Father,  father,  I  shall  never  be  able  to  tell  you  now." 

And  so,  at  last,  Wendela's  peace  of  mind  ^vas  bought  by 
a  lie.  For  it  was  a  lie,  one  of  those  falsehoods  by  which 
noble-hearted  women  shame  the  truth. 

Eeinout,  on  his  way  home  to  the  little  hotel  where  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  staying  under  his  assumed  name  of 
"  Volkert,"  hurried  along  unheeding,  swayed  to  and  fro 
with  the  tumult  of  his  thoughts.  He  did  not  notice  where 
he  was  going,  as  he  passed  along  crowded  thoroughfares, 
noisy  with  the  hundred  vulgarities  of  every-night  sale  and 
barter,  or  turned  into  little  narrow  by-streets,  desolate  be- 
neath their  solitary  lamp.  Presently  he  emerged  upon  a 
quiet  square,  on  one  side  of  which  a  little  crowd  was  col- 
lected. Under  a  gaslight  a  man  stood  preaching ;  Reinout, 
looking  aside  carelessly  in  passing,  recognised  the  evangel- 
istic tailor.  Tipper.  He  slackened  his  pace  for  a  moment 
to  listen,  and,  as  he  did  so,  the  words  fell  clearly  on  his 
ears :  "  It's  no  use.  You  can't  escape  from  yourself.  No 
man  can.  You  must  have  peace  with  yourself.  And  you 
can't  make  peace  witli  yourself  till  you  make  it  in  Clod." 

"  Tliree  for  a  penny,"  said  a  Jew  hawker  close  in  front 
of  him,  "and  warranted  to  wear." 


CHAPTEE  LXIL 

NO   TIIOllOUGHFARE. 

"Come  back  immediately,  Eeiuout.  What  does  this 
masquerading  mean?  I  have  just  got  you  nominated  to 
Vienna,  but  the  Minister  wants  to  see  you  first.  Not  know- 
ing where  to  find  you,  I  was  obliged  to  open  your  bureau. 
I  am  disgusted  to  discover  that  you  are  doing  things  which 
require  an  alias.     I  command  you  to  return  at  once. 

"YAif  Eexelaeii." 

"  Dear  Father, — I  am  not  coming  back.  I  am  never 
coming  back.  Do  not  be  angry  with  me,  I  entreat  of  you.  I 
cannot  act  otherwise.  Your  life  and  mine  lie  so  wide  apart 
it  is  no  use  trying  any  longer  to  link  them  together. 

"  Eexe." 

The  two  papers  lay  spread  out  before  him  on  the  lodging- 
house  table,  his  father's  summons,  received  that  morning, 
and  his  own  reply,  ready,  with  the  ink  still  wet. 

As  soon  as  he  had  recognised  the  hand-writing  of  that 
"  Den  Heer  Volkert,  Cafe  Monopole,  Amsterdam,"  he  had 
understood  that  the  decisive  moment,  too  long  kept  at  bay, 
Avas  upon  him  and  held  him  by  the  throat.  The  idea,  even 
as  he  gasped  beneath  it,  brought  him  relief;  he  was  glad. 
There  are  those  of  us  who  decide  quickly,  mostly  wrong. 
There  are  those  who  decide  slowly,  mostly  wrong  also.  He 
was  one  of  the  few  who  decide  slowly  and  right. 

Since   the   horrible   discovery — two   days    ago — of    his 


NO  THOROUGHFARE.  449 

father's  conduct  in  connection  with  "  the  Lady's  Dole,"  he 
liad  lived  in  the  consciousness  that  he  had  reached  the 
parting  of  the  ways.  He  had  seen  it  growing  plainer  as  he 
journeyed  on,  but  now  he  had  climbed  up  to  it,  and  was 
standing  still.  You  cannot  stand  still  long.  Happy  are 
you  if  you  can  go  on  straight.  Eeinout  could  not.  He 
hesitated,  yet  from  the  first  he  felt — thank  God  ! — that  he 
would  turn  to  the  right. 

But  it  is  an  awful  thing  for  any  human  heart  to  cast  off 
all  its  outer  clothing,  be  that  clothing  soft  or  cumbrous, 
and  to  stand  out  naked  in  the  light  of  a  laughing  day. 
Eeinout  looked  back  down  the  past.  He  recalled  how  the 
first  flash  of  light  had  struck  across  his  velvet-curtained 
soul  when,  mazed  with  the  beauty  and  sick  with  the  sorrow 
of  the  wondrous  world  they  were  hiding  from  him,  he  had 
first  learned,  through  a  girlish  gift,  in  a  poet's  prophetic 
promise,  that  mystery  which  unlocks  all  mortal  mysteries, 
the  Law  of  fraternal  Love.  To  love  his  neighbour  as  him- 
self— to  do  good.  After  all,  that  is  not  so  very  hard  !  but  im- 
mortal mysteries  rise  beyond.  To  some  little  vision  of  these 
also  he  had  struggled  through  the  thickness  of  the  easy 
years.  To  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart  and 
with  all  thy  soul— to  do  right. 

And,  long  ago,  the  prisoned  song  within  his  breast  had 
awaked,  at  the  sound  of  other  singing,  and  fluttered  its 
wings  on  high.     He  coiild  not  have  sung  in  his  cage. 

He  recalled  his  first  meeting  with  Spangenberg.  After 
the  acceptance  of  several  of  his  enthusiastic  poems  by  "  The 
Cry  of  the  People,"  its  editor  had  printed  a  request  to  their 
author  to  call.  He  had  gone  to  Amsterdam,  retaining  the 
pseudonym  under  which  he  had  written,  and  had  naturally 
become  known  in  "  Little  Paradise "  as  "  Volkert."  He 
had  found  there  afresh  and  healthful  and  honestly-aspiring 
life  ;  but  his  course  lay  elsewhere.  A  gentilhomme  devoir 
fait  loi. 

And  he  loved  his  shallow,  friendly  father,  all  whose  yet 


450  'I'll^'   GREATER  GLORY. 

unfulfilled  ambition  was  centred  on  the  son  and  heir.  His 
mother — hush,  he  paused  before  that  sepulchre  and  flung 
away  the  key. 

Of  the  story  of  Dora  Droste  he  could  think  more  calmly. 
He  saw  that  Wonnema's  account  of  it  was  coloured  by  per- 
sonal spite,  and  he  therefore  refused  to  accept  the  discharged 
servant's  conclusions.  The  Count  treated  such  matters  as 
all  his  acquaintances  treated  them.  With  a  bleeding  heart, 
Eeinout  could  excuse  him. 

Against  Loripont's  accusations,  also,  he  felt  that  he 
could  at  least  partially  defend  his  father — in  the  heat  of  his 
yearning  to  justify  him  altogether.  After  all,  the  hurried 
scrawl  of  a  man  pain-maddened  to  suicide  was  not  a  rea- 
sonable will ;  after  all,  it  might  be  presumed,  might  be 
hoped,  that  the  Count  had  been  ignorant  of  the  source  of 
Margherita's  fortune  ;  after  all 

But  no :  "I  cannot  live  any  longer  on  that  money,"  he 
said.  "  It  is  no  use  reasoning  about  it."  Xor  was  it  possi- 
ble to  smudge  away  the  clear-cut  truth  of  Spangenberg's 
revelations.  For  the  first  time  he  beheld  his  father's  un- 
varnished nature.  And  at  the  same  time  his  own  nobility  fell 
from  him.     All  the  chivalry  of  his  3^outh  in  a  clatter  of  tin. 

From  the  life,  then,  to  which  he  had  dutifully  clung, 
Avhile  it  only  seemed  distasteful,  he  now  must  break  away, 
because  God  had  proved  it  evil.  A  gentilhomme  devoir 
fait  loi. 

He  sat  down  and  began  a  letter  to  his  father ;  he  began 
several  times,  with  new  confidence,  after  every  false  start. 
At  last  it  was  finished,  a  lengthy  document,  summing  up  all 
his  difficulties,  his  doubts,  his  grievances,  tacitly  exonerating 
his  parents  from  any  share  in  causing  them.  The  writing 
it  all  down  in  orderly  sequence,  the  thinking  out  the  tumult 
of  his  thoughts,  did  him  good.  "  It  is  no  use  reasoning 
about  it,"  he  repeated  when  all  was  over.  "  I  cannot  live 
on  that  money,  and  that  settles  the  matter." 

He  carefully  read  the  letter  over  again.     Then  he  drew 


NO   THOROUGHFARE.  45| 

from  his  breast-pocket  a  small  morocco  case  and  sat  looking 
at  the  two  portraits  it  contained.  His  father,  with  the 
nervous,  shifty  features  and  silken  whiskers,  all  the  well- 
known  illustrious  orders  scattered  over  neck  and  chest ;  his 
mother,  handsome  still  with  a  certain  conscious  comeliness, 
stout  and  decolletee — too  stout  and  far  too  decolletee — in 
her  laces,  diamonds  and  flowers.  Slowly  he  closed  the 
case  and  hid  it  away  again.  Then,  with  weary  hand,  he 
took  up  the  letter  and  tore  it  across. 

Ten  minutes  later  he  had  written  the  few  lines  of  an- 
swer recorded  above  and  posted  them  in  the  letter-box  at 
the  corner  of  the  street.  It  was  done,  then.  Yon  let  go 
the  last  tip  of  the  envelope  and  "  it  "  is  irretrievably  done. 
He  walked  briskly  away  in  the  direction  of  "  Little  Para- 
dise." His  thoughts  were  of  Vienna,  at  first,  and  the  ultra- 
covetable  small  balls  at  the  Hofburg  :  "  I  hope  you  like  our 
society.  Monsieur  de  Kexelaer?"  "Your  Majesty  is  too 
gracious ;  who  would  not  be  charmed  ? "  And  then  he 
drifted  away  to  Deynum  Castle,  and  the  Chevalier — how 
sorry  that  good  old  man  would  be  ! — and  the  Countes«,  his 
mother,  among  her  birds  and  flowers.  Amarinda  was 
dead ;  Florizel  still  tottered  on  three  rheumatic  legs.  After 
all,  the  starry  career  was  his  ;  he  had  been  born  to  it,  edu- 
cated for  it :  his  whole  life  had  been  lapped  in  its  super- 
cilious luxury.  The  home  was  his,  the  beautiful  resting- 
place  of  that  illustrious  race  which  had  been  his  from  the 
cradle.  The  great  lady,  the  Countess,  was  his  mother.  In 
all  separation  we  cry  out,  there.  It  is  no  use  casting  away 
keys,  when  lock  and  chain  hold  firm. 

He  turned  into  "  Little  Paradise "  and  nodded  up  at 
Mynheer  Morel.  "  Will  you  come  and  take  a  walk  with  me 
round  the  square  ?  "  the  old  man  called  down.  "  Presently, 
Mynheer,"  Keinout  answered  back.  "  Please  begin  without 
me.  I  must  have  a  long  talk  with  Spangenberg  first." 
The  Master  frowned  ;  he  was  unaccustomed  to' the  most  in- 
direct of  "no's." 
SO 


452  "I'iJl^   GREATER  GLORY. 

"  For  the  moment,  I  am  going  to  stop  here,"  Eeinont 
said  bravely  to  Christian,  "  I  am  not  going  back  to  the 
Hague.  But  that  means  tliat  I  must  earu  my  own  liveli- 
hood. I  have  been  wondering  whether,  if  Poster  passes  his 
examination  and  leaves  you,  you  could  engage  me  on  trial 
in  his  place?    You  know,  I  have  taken  my  law-degree." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  cried  Christian,  "  you  are  welcome  to 
whatever  help  I  can  give  you,  but  you're  too  good  for  my 
law-work.  Why,  with  your  education  and  your  languages 
— half  a  dozen  at  your  fingers'  ends — you  can  get  a  much 
better  post  than  that !  Don't  you  remember  what  I  said  to 
you  when  first  you  came  to  me  ?  Well,  you  can  earn 
money  ;  be  thankful  for  it." 

"  I  believe  that  I  could  perhaps  get  something  better, 
but.  Christian,  I  want  to  have  just  this.  I  v/ant  you  to 
take  me  for  one  year  only  and  to  let  me  earn  what  Poster 
earns.  At  the  end  of  that  time  I  shall  probably  go  away. 
You  see  I  am  perfectly  frank  with  you." 

"And  then?" 

"  That  is  my  secret.  A  fresh  secret.  Xot  a  very  im- 
portant one." 

"  But  wdiy  don't  you  rather  try  literature?" 

Before  Keinout  could  answer,  a  pebble  struck  the  win- 
dow ;  Father  Morel,  having  twice  completed  the  circuit  of 
the  grass-plot  and  being  big  with  sublimest  thoughts,  stood 
making  impatient  signs. 

"Yes,  yes;  in  a  minute,"  nodded  Keinout;  "Litera- 
ture ! "  he  repeated,  turning  again  to  his  friend.  "  Do  you 
seriously  recommend  me  to  earn  my  bread  by  that?  Look 
here,  I  will  tell  you  a  little  story.  Three  or  four  years  ago, 
while  I  was  a  student  at  Leyden,  a  thin  volume  of  poetry 
appeared,  entitled  '  The  IMorning  of  a  Life.'  The  name 
was  not  very  original ;  the  book  was  a  modest  one.  Have 
you  ever  heard  of  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Christian. 

"  Nor  has  anyone  else,  except  the  man  who  paid  the  bill. 


NO   THOROUGHFARE.  453 

His  name  was  '  Pelgrim  Volkert.'  When  the  little  book 
first  came  out,  he  watched  anxiously — oh  so  anxiously ! — 
for  the  opinion  of  '  the  literary  world.'  Sometimes  he 
thought  tliat  little  book  contained  the  baldest  rubbish  ever 
penned  ;  sometimes  he  fancied  it  so  full  of  heartfelt  beauty 
that  none  could  read  it  without  tears.  In  his  inmost  con- 
fidence he  believed  it  would  create  a  stir.  Had  it  done  so,  I 
am  not  sure  whether  there  would  not  have  been  a  student  less 
at  Leyden,  next  term.  Well,  several  weeks  passed ;  then 
there  appeared  a  long  review  in  a  provincial  paper,  saying 
■ — -I  don't  mind  telling  now — that  the  book  contained  some 
of  the  most  exquisite  poetry  in  the  language,  and  repeatedly 
asserting  that  here  was  a  new  light  at  last  in  the  waste  of 
Dutch  literature.  I  suppose  that  the  light  was  a  Will-o'- 
the-Wisp.  The  rest  is  silence.  Three  copies  were  sold,  and 
six  months  later  the  author  paid  the  bill.  I  remember  that, 
on  the  evening  of  that  most  eventful  day,  he  told  his  fath- 
er :  '  Yes,  he  should  like  the  Diplomatic  Service  very  much 
indeed.' " 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Christian. 

"And  you  propose  to  me  to  live  by  literature?" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  the  by-ways,  not  the  high-ways,"  re- 
plied the  editor,  "reviews,  articles,  studies — journalistic, 
compilatory,  biograpliical  work.  But  you  are  right.  I 
don't  think  you  could  make  a  living  out  of  literature.  At 
least,  not  in  this  small  country.     And  do  you  know  why?" 

"  Why  ?     I  should  think  l"  did." 

"  No,  but  let  me  tell  you  what  I  mean.  Ithink  you  can 
stand  it  to-day,  and,  moreover,  you  deserve  it,  after  what 
you  have  gone  through  this  morning.  Don't  laugh.  You 
are  a  genius.     That  is  all." 

Reinout  staggered,  almost  as  if  he  had  received  a  blow. 

"  I — I  don't  think  so,"  he  stammered,  stupidly. 

"  But  I  do.  And  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  your  work 
in  the  '  Cry,'  and  I  am  a  better  Judge  than  yourself.  There, 
tiiat  is  enough  for  to-day.     Now  go  and  walk  witli  Father 


45i  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

Mort'l.     He's  another.     But,  then,  fortunately,  he  has  Me- 
vrouw  to  take  care  of  him." 

Eeinout  found  the  poet  vexed  by  having  been  kept  wait- 
ing ;  he  was  not  good  company.  Said  his  fond  wife  to  her- 
self as  she  laid  down  her  endless  darning  to  watch  them 
turn  in  the  little  square  :  "  There  the  good  man  goes,  scat- 
tering all  his  diamonds,  as  usual,  for  another  to  pick  up  and 
set  in  his  crown.  Well,  I'm  glad  the  other's  Pelgrira  Vol- 
kert.  He's  a  genius.  Like  all  geniuses,  he  will  live  alone, 
and  be  buried  by  a  crowd." 


CHAPTER   LXIII. 

ALONE. 

A  FEW  days  later  Piet  Poster  snocessfally  passed  his 
third  and  final  examination.  Immediately  afterwards  he 
sought  a  situation  as  assistant-Notary  in  the  Southern 
Provinces  and,  being  a  zealous  Catholic,  easily  obtained 
one.     He  wanted  to  leave  Amsterdam,  he  said. 

He  wanted  to  leave  Amsterdam,  although  his  Patroness, 
as  he  persisted  in  calling  the  Baroness,  still  remained  there. 
The  widowed  lady  had  declined  Father  Bulbius's  renewed 
offer  of  the  Parsonage.  "  Xo  indeed,"  said  "Wendela,  "  we 
must  never  go  back." 

Besides,  the  Baron  lay  buried, — temporarily? — in  the 
public  cemetery  at  Amsterdam,  In  spite  of  its  modest  ad- 
juncts, his  funeral  had  been  a  quietly  imposing  one,  for  a 
large  number  of  his  old  colleagues  of  the  States  Provincial 
had  come  up  to  attend  it,  as  well  as  many  members  of  the 
Order  of  Xobles  of  the  Province,  headed  by  Baron  Borck. 
Not  one  of  them  but  had  remarked  with  astonishment 
among  the  mourners  the  young  heir  of  the  new  lord  of 
Deynum. 

A  white  cross  was  to  be  erected  on  the  grave.  Tlie 
Baroness  could  afford  it;  what  a  vulgar,  all-important  little 
point !  But  even  the  ditch  into  which  sorrow  sinks  has  to 
be  duly  paid  for,  as  also  the  stone  which  affection  puts  up 
to  remember  the  spot  by.  "  I  should  like  to  stipulate," 
Count  Rexelaer  had  said  to  Spangenberg,  "  that  the  family 
do  not  return  to  Deynum."    "If  the  money  is  refunded  im- 


456  THE   GREATER   GLORY. 

mediately,"  Christiau  had  replied,  "  there  will  be  no  prose- 
cution." Shortly  afterwards  capital  and  interest  were  paid 
over  to  her  who  was  now  become,  indisputably,  the  last  of 
the  Ladies  Rexelaer.  Count  Hilarius  said  that  he  hated 
the  appearance  of  injustice  and  would  rather  err  on  the  side 
of  too  great  generosity.  He  retained  his  opinion  that  the 
testator  had  intended  the  money  to  go  with  the  Castle,  but 
he  rejoiced  that  the  benefit  of  the  doubt  enabled  him  thus 
delicately  to  succour  the  aged  Baroness,  of  whose  destitute 
condition  he  had  not  been  aware.  Sj^angenberg  was  a 
bright  young  fellow,  as  we  have  seen,  but  when  he  left  the 
presence  of  the  Lord  of  the  Household,  he  could  not  have 
told  you  whether  his  Excellency,  prior  to  this  visit,  had 
been  aware  of  that  little  inaccuracy  in  the  spelling  of  his 
noble  name.  "  My  father  was  very  exact,"  said  Count 
Rexelaer  blandly.  "  I  can  not  understand  a  slip  on  his  part 
in  so  weighty  a  matter." 

"  Yes,  Freule,  I'm  going  to-morrow,"  said  Piet.  "  And 
you  know  who's  to  have  my  old  room,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Xo,"  replied  TTendela  indifferently.     "  Who  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  really  ?     The  Jonker  Eexelaer." 

"  Indeed  I "  said  Wendela  in  the  same  tone.  But  the 
news  was  distasteful  to  her.  She  had  not  seen  Eeinout 
again  since  the  day  of  the  funeral,  nor  did  she  wish  to  see 
him. 

"  Before  I  go,  Freule,"  said  Piet  Poster,  a^vkwardly 
standing  by  the  ojien  door,  "  I  wanted  to  thank  you  for  all 
you  have  done  for  me." 

Frank  Wendela  cried  out,  "  It's  the  other  way,"  she 
said. 

"  Please  don't  say  that,"  rej^lied  the  young  man  hur- 
riedly. "  I  haven't  been  able  to  do  anything,  really.  But 
one  thing  I  shall  always  be  glad  and  proud  of,  that  it  was  I 
who  was,  indirectly,  the  cause  of  Mynheer  the  Baron's  em- 
ploying  Mynheer   Spangenberg.     Do  you  know,   Freule, 


ALONE.  457 

when  I  ran  away  from  Deynum,  I  had  made  up  my  miud 
to  sail  to  foreign  countries  and  come  back  in  a  year  or  two 
with  barges  full  of  gold-dust  to  repurchase  the  Castle,  as 
people  do  in  story-books.  I  found  out  soon  enough  what  a 
fool  I  was ;  I  haven't  been  able  to  repurchase  the  Castle, 

but — but "  he  hesitated.     "  The  Jonker  van  Kexelaer  is 

a  good  man,"  he  said. 

"He  told  me,"  said  Wendela,  "about  the  beating  you 
gave  him,  when  a  boy." 

"Did  he,  Freule?  Those  are  not  the  kind  of  beatings 
that  hurt.  I  hope  he  will  be  happy  some  day,  and  I  hope 
you  will  be  happy,  Freule,  very  happy,  and  sometimes  re- 
member how  we  used  to  play  together,  how  you  used  to 
play  with  me,  I  mean,  when  we  were  children  at  Deynum." 

"  Goodbye,  Piet,"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand.  "  I 
shall  not  forget.     I  hope  that  you,  too,  will  be  very  happy." 

He  gently  took  the  extended  hand  and  bent  over  it.  He 
would  have  liked  to  lift  it  to  his  lips,  but  he  was  a  Dutch- 
man and,  above  all  things,  dreaded  making  himself  ridicu- 
lous; he  checked  the  impulse  and  drew  back.  "Goodbye, 
Freule,"  he  whispered,  and  went  away. 

After  his  departure  complete  monotony  settled  down 
over  the  house  on  the  Canal  of  the  Koses ;  there  was  mo- 
notony in  everything,  even  in  the  landlady's  voice  as  she 
harassed  the  slavey.  "  Your  father  was  perfect,"  the  Bar- 
oness had  said,  yet  there  was  an  endless  monotony  in  her 
prayers  for  the  dead  man,  and  her  sorrows  for  his  sufferings 
in  purgatory.  And  for  this  worry  of  her  mother's  Wendela 
could  feel  nothing  but  half-repressed  disgust ;  she  rejoiced 
in  her  new-found  relief  from  the  load  of  her  father's  guilt. 

She  tended  the  invalid  as  one  nurses  a  little  child,  and 
i)ore,  without  complaint,  the  placidity  of  her  pleasurcless, 
])ainless  existence.  Surreptitiously  she  continued  to  buy 
the  "  Cry  of  the  People,"  which  she  had  first  seen,  by  the 
by,  through  Piet  Poster.     She  would  meet  Reinout  on  the 


458  'I'll^'^   OKEATER  GLORY. 

stairs,  and  from  time  to  time  lie  paid  a  formal  eveniug-call. 
He  was  very  quiet,  and  apparently  very  busy.  Jutfrouw 
Dondcrs  informed  the  Freule  that  he  used  to  sit  up  (juite 
late  into  the  night.  And  the  landlady's  opinion  carried 
weight,  not  only  because  she  controlled  the  consumption  of 
paraffin,  but  also  because  of  her  habit  of  walking  the  house 
at  all  hours,  to  superintend  her  lodgers,  if  possible,  through 
the  key-hole. 

After  the  first  tornado  of  protest,  things  also  settled  down 
into  comparative  calm  at  tlie  Hague.  In  answer  to  discreet 
inquiries  the  police  had  informed  His  Excellency  the  Lord 
High  Seneschal  that  a  person  called  Pelgrim  Volkert  was 
well  known  to  them  as  a  writer  of  seditious  verses  in  that 
obscure  newspaper,  the  "  Cry  of  the  People."  The  police 
always  know  so  much,  they  seldom  care  to  know  all. 

Count  Eexelaer's  supreme  dread  now  was  lest  they  should 
find  out  who  Pelgrim  Volkert  was.  What  would  become  of 
a  Court  Official  whose  son  was  proven  a  socialist?  Yet  he 
felt  that  such  degradation  was  fast  clouding  over  his  coro- 
neted  head. 

With  this  horror  upon  him  he  hazarded  a  wild  effort  to 
get  Reinout  declared  insane.  It  failed ;  even  the  closest  of 
nets  must  have  meshes.  Whereupon  he  wrote  him  a  letter 
damp  with  tears,  a  father's  heart-broken  appeal,  the  prayer 
of  a  man  who  was  losing  what  he  best  loved  on  earth. 
"  Dearest,  dearest  father,"  the  son  wrote  back,  "  let  us  give 
up  this  infamous  fortune,  and  the  Castle,  which  is  not  even 
ours  !  "  Everyone  noticed  how  gray  and  worn  Count  Rexe- 
laer  was  looking.  He  spoke  angrily  to  Margherita.  "  The 
Ijoy  has  covered  with  infamy  the  noble  name  which  he 
bears,"  he  said.  "  It  is  your  fault  with  your  poetry  and 
nonsense.  It  is  your  roturier-blood.  A  hundred  times 
rather  I  had  wished  he  was  dead."  "  My  poetry  was  always 
sensible,"  retorted  Margherita.  "  It  is  your  ridiculous  edu- 
cation that  has  ended  like  this.    And  as  for  my  blood,  what 


ALONE.  459 

is  yours,  Monsieur  le  Cabaretier?  Do  you  not  think  I  know 
now — from  your  clear  sister  Elizabeth?  Leave  me  in  peace 
with  my  terrible  sorrow.  You  are  insufferable ;  only  yester- 
day Monsieur  de  Bonnaventure  was  remarking  how  irritable 
you  have  grown." 

The  Chevalier  wiped  a~  tear  out  of  his  bleared  old  eye 
with  a  silk  handkerchief.  It  was  given  out  that  the  only 
sou  of  the  Eexelaers  had  gone  abroad  for  his  health ;  Me- 
vrouw  Elizabeth,  who  was  exceedingly  put  out  by  Antoinette's 
disappointment,  added  that  the  poor  young  fellow  had  al- 
ways been  a  little  wild.  People  touched  their  foreheads  sig- 
nificantly. Oh,  the  instability  of  human  greatness  !  Every- 
thing, yes  everything  that  Fortune  could  bestow.  And  now 
this! 

During  all  these  months  Reinout  kejDt  on  very  quietly. 
He  did  his  daily  task  for  Spangenberg,  and  occasionally, 
though  more  rarely,  contributed  a  few  verses  to  the  "  Cry." 

"  You  never  send  me  a  letter  now  about  my  poems,"  he 
once  ventured  to  remark  to  the  Freule  van  Rexelaer. 

"  No,"  replied  that  young  lady  shortly. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  given  u]]  reading  them  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  Or  do  you,  having  glanced  at  them,  pay  no  further  at- 
tention to  their  contents  ?  " 

"  Oh  no."     But  this  last  "  no  "  was  ambiguous. 

Antoinette  had  faithfully  kept  her  cousin's  secret ;  no 
one  knew  of  his  writings  in  the  French  magazines.  The 
literary  circle  in  "  Little  Paradise  "  looked  upon  him  as  a 
Dutch  writer  of  genuine  genius,  doomed  to  hopeless  obscu- 
rity by  the  very  language  he  wrote  in.  But  even  such  recog- 
nition as  Holland  can  bestow  they  never  expected  to  be  his. 
He  was  not  a  "  popular "  poet ;  the  artisans  who  read  the 
"  Cry "  skipped  his  poetry,  which  had  not  even  a  chorus. 
Besides  the  Dutch,  great  in  painting,  are  dead  to  poetry. 
Even  in  painting  imagination  is  a  sin.  It  was  by  imagina- 
tion that  our  common  mother  fell.     Had  she  been  content 


400  'i'lll''  GREATER   CLORY. 

to  perceive  that  an  apple  is  an  apple  she  might  have  been 
in  Paradise  at  this  hour,  as  many  ■  a  substantial  Dutch 
burgher-mother  is.  AYoe  to  him  that  distinguishes  apples 
of  discord  and  apples  of  Sodom  and  golden  apples  of  the 
Hesperides,  in  quest  of  which  latter,  perhaps,  he  sails  away 
into  the  Unknown.  We  live  both  comfortably  and  right- 
eously in  Holland — nowhere  more  so — but  we  do  not  live 
by  admiration,  hope  and  love.  We  live  by  the  fear  of  God 
and  the  care  of  our  purses.  And  we  all  of  us,  except  the 
poets,  despise  a  poet  Just  a  little  for  not  being  something 
else.  Reinout,  therefore,  was  singularly  fortunate  in  having 
happed  on  the  Morels. 

He  knew  it,  and  thoroughly  eujoyed  those  Sunday  even- 
ings— much  Poetry  and  a  little  punch — which  now  formed 
his  sole  recreation.  Of  the  company  which  gathered  about 
Homerus  none  but  Spangenberg  was  acquainted  with  the  de- 
tails of  the  new-comer's  story.  They  had  heard  that  he  had 
broken  loose  from  old  moorings  in  a  comfortable  haven  to 
row  with  his  brothers  against  the  stream.  They  also  knew 
that  "  Pelgrim  Volkert "  had  been  a  literary  pseudonym,  but 
they  never  connected  its  bearer  in  their  thoughts  with  that 
great  historic  house  of  which  the  Mandarin  Ri-Ksi-La  was 
the  acknowledged  head. 

Sometimes  an  allusion  would  cause  the  young  fellow  to 
wince,  as  when  Homerus,  having  discoursed  on  the  limits  to 
man's  self-suflficiency,  wound  up  with  the  words :  "  Xo 
human  plant  ever  fully  recovers  from  transplanting.  Xo 
organism  has  more  than  one  '  home.'  The  uprooted  heart, 
whatever  may  become  its  future  surroundings,  goes  througli 
life  alone." 

Reinout  pushed  back  his  chair  into  the  shade. 

"  When  my  father  and  my  mother  forsake  me,"  began 
the  tailor. 

"Then  shall  I  be  forsaken  indeed,"  concluded  Spangen- 
berg. 

"  Then  the  Lord  shall  take  me  up,"  said  the  tailor. 


ALONE.  4(31 

"  That  is  finely  put,"  remarked  Reinout's  voice. 

"  It  is  from  the  Bible,"  replied  the  tailor.  "  Have  you 
who  are,  I  believe,  an  orphan  never  found  it  there  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Reinout  awkwardly. 

"  Perhaps  you  have  never  looked  for  it,  or  for  anything 
else.  If  you  have  not  got  a  Bible,  I  should  be  very  glad  to 
send  you  one." 

"I  will  get  one,"  said  haughty  Reinout,  and  then  in- 
stantly repented :  "  I  mean,"  he  added,  "  that  I  should  not 
wish  to  trouble  you." 

"  It  will  be  a  very  simple  one,  mind  you— outside.  The 
jewel's  the  same,  whatever  the  casket." 

"  Thank  you  very  much  indeed,"  said  Reinout. 


CHAPTER   LXIV. 

SUCCESS. 

Whex  Reinout  abruptly  brought  his  clerkship  to  au 
end,  his  year  of  probation  was  only  ten  months  old.  April 
had  come  around  again  with  premature  joys  and  uncertain 
promises,  foreshadowing  a  fairer,  though  not  a  fresher,  sun- 
shine in  broad  cloudsweeps  of  wind  and  rain.  It  had  been 
a  bright,  breezy  day,  full  of  the  turmoil  of  Xature's  restless 
awakening,  with  sudden  gusts  of  movement  and  floods  of 
warmth,  one  of  those  days  on  which  all  the  young  world 
seems  dancing  merrily,  from  the  bare  trees  and  bold  clouds 
up  in  heaven  to  the  dead  leaves  and  swift  brooks  down  on 
earth.  A  great  ripple  of  jollity  spread  over  creation,  the 
clear  wind  played  up  to  the  dancers  and  the  sly  sun  laughed 
down  on  the  dance. 

Reinout  had  spent  his  day  as  usual  at  the  office,  doubled 
wp  over  the  endlessly  useless  entanglements  of  the  law. 
Spangenberg,  who  hated  the  systematized  robbery  of  his 
profession  with  a  constantly  increasing  contempt,  had  gone 
off  early  to  his  editorial  business,  and  his  clerk  was  glad 
enough,  at  four  o'clock,  to  shut  up  shop  and  betake  himself 
to  the  Canal  of  the  Roses.  They  were  a  queer  joair  of  law- 
yers, and  the  greater  j)art  of  the  business  of  the  office  con- 
sisted in  unavailing  attempts  to  protect  the  defenceless. 

■  At  his  lodgings  Reinout  found  a  foreign  letter  awaiting 
him.  This  letter,  which  he  had  been  daily  expecting  for 
weeks,  he  now  tore  open  as  if  his  life  depended  on  a  hun- 
dredth of  a  second  of  time.     His  eves  flashed  through  the 


SUCCESS.  403 

contents,  and  he  was  out  of  the  door  again  and  off  to 
"  Little  Paradise."  "  Good  gracious  !  "  cried  Christian, 
looking  uj)  from  his  desk.  "  Is  the  Prinsengracht  in 
flames  ?  " 

"  No,"  gasped  Reinout  in  joyous  breathlessness,  "but  it 
will  be.  Christian,  when  I  have  set  the  world  on  fire  !  " 
And  he  spread  out  his  open  letter  in  front  of  his  friend. 

Spangenberg  read  it  and  looked  up  with  his  brightest 
smile. 

"  You  only  lose  a  bad  clerk,"  said  Reinout. 

"  Exactly,"  replied  Spangenberg. 

After  a  moment  he  added  :  "  So  this  was  your  secret. 
What  a  linguist  you  must  be  !  " 

"  Oh  no  ;  I  have  always  spoken  more  French  than  Dutch 
at — home.  But  don't  think  that  this  bird  has  come  falling 
into  my  mouth  ready-roasted.  It  has  taken  a  lot  of  labour 
and  i^atience  to  catch  and  to  kill.  I've  been  hard  at  work 
for  years,  trying  to  get  things  inserted  in  the  Parisian  re- 
views. Nobody  ever  knew  anything  about  it,  except,  quite 
towards  the  end,  a  dear  little  cousin,  who  hid  away  my  secret 
as  soon  as  she  had  discovered  it.  It  used  to  be  so  funny, 
sometimes,  people  asking  me,  for  instance,  whether  I  ever 
read  the  French  reviews  ?  " 

"  How  can  people  find  out  if  you  don't  tell  them '? " 

"  True,  but  I  couldn't.  Nor  would  you  have  turned  the 
love  of  your  bosom  naked  into  a  dancing-room.  There, 
I'm  growing  coarse  and  accurate.  Do  you  think  it  wrong 
of  me  to  write  in  French  ?  " 

"No  more  wrong  than  for  the  pastor  of  a  small  country- 
parish  to  accept  a  call  to  a  great  city-church.  Dutch  is  at 
the  best  but  the  language  of  one  family,  with  a  large  pro- 
portion of  deaf-mutes  among  its  children.  French  is  the 
language  of  the  civilized  world." 

"  That's  what  I  have  always  thought,  and  I  considered 
my  efforts  in  Dutch  altogetlier  secondary,  but  of  course 
others  may  judge  differently  ;   I  can't  help  that.     Well,  it 


4(14  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

has  been  a  hard  strngs:le,  but  success,  or  something  very 
like  the  beginning  of  success,  has  come  at  last." 

He  took  up  his  letter  and  read  it  over  again.  It  was  a 
communication  from  a  well-known  Parisian  publisher  to 
whose  review  he  had  already  frequently  contributed  some 
trifle.  The  publisher  wrote  that  he  accepted  the  manuscript 
novel  ^\'llich  had  been  sent  him,  though  suggesting  a  change 
towards  the  close,  and  that  he  offered  for  the  copyright, 
not  the  enormous  sums  we  so  often  see  set  down  in  the 
story-books,  but  a  bona  fide  price  of  nine  thousand  francs. 
Out  of  the  pure  goodness  of  his  heart  he  added  some  sen- 
tences of  warmest  commendation,  both  of  this  work  and  of 
former  contributions  to  the  "  Eevue." 

"  Yes,  I  have  come  down  to  prose,"  said  Eeinout  sorrow- 
fully.    "  It's  no  use,  nowadays." 

"  But,  dear  fellow,  do  you  know  what  makes  me  so 
happy?"  cried  Spangeuberg  with  beaming  eye.  "  AVheu 
fame  comes  to  you,  as  I  am  sure  it  will,  world-wide  fame, 
they  will  be  j^roud  of  3'ou  over  yonder,  in  the  Hague  ! 
They  will  be  jealous — fiercely  appreciative,  j^erhajis,  but  still 
appreciative." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  asked  Eeinout,  in  the  same  sorrow- 
ful tone.  "  I  do  not.  How  little  you  know,  Christian,  the 
classes  or  the  '  social  conditions  '  your  paper  makes  war 
against.  "With  the  j)eople  from  amongst  whom  I  came  out 
the  smallest  bit  of  ribbon  of  Franz  Joseph's  giving  at 
Vienna  would  far  have  excelled  the  laurel-wreath  of  Shake- 
speare himself.  I  might  have  done  anything  vile,  composed 
in  my  leisure  moments  the  bawdiest  of  love-songs,  but  not 
preached  sedition  !  My  own  father  will  weep  to  think  I 
have  not  failed.  He  will  endeavour  to  forget  me.  Perhaps 
he  will  succeed." — Eeinout's  voice  faltered. — "  I  am  told  he 
has  sent  for  my  cousin  to  De3'num.  Listen.  Only  a  few 
months  ago  I  met  in  society  the  grand-daughter  of  an  illus- 
trious French  poet,  a  woman  who  had  just  bought,  with  her 
honour,  the  title  of  '  Princess.'     Unwisely  I  talked  to  her 


SUCCESS.  465 

about  her  'immortal  grandfather' ;  can  you  guess  what  she 
answered  me  ?  '  Immortal  indeed,  there  is  no  escaping 
from  my  grandfather.  "  Ce  qu'il  y  avait  d'infime  dans  son 
origiue  et  d'iufame  dans  sa  vie "  is  writ  down  in  all  the 
dictionaries  of  Europe.'  His  life  had  not  been  disgraceful 
in  any  sense,  as  you  and  I  read  the  word.  But  he  had  been 
a  revolutionary,  a  passionate  lover  of  freedom,  a  scorner  of 
kings.  And  his  origin  had  been  of  the  humblest,  that 
can  never  be  denied.  They  will  hate  me  all  the  more  when 
I  call  evil  evil,  because  I  am  one  of  them." 

"  I  observe,"  said  Christian,  referring  to  the  letter, 
"  that  you  have  called  this  book  of  yours  '  Gloire  In- 
fame. '  " 

"  Yes.  When  I  first  began  it,  I  still  thought  I  was  en- 
titled to  the  motto  which  has  been  the  secret  strength  of 
my  life.  Let  the  title  stand.  N'o  one,  I  have  taken  care  of 
that,  will  recognise  the  story.  But  it  is  none  the  less  an 
autobiograjihy." 

Eeinout  returned  home  earlier  than  usual  that  even- 
ing, cherishing,  all  along  the  brightened  streets,  his 
triumph  of  the  moment  and  the  prospects,  financial  and 
other,  which  it  opened  up  before  him.  Some  perhaps 
might  have  feasted  so  auspicious  an  event,  but  it  is  ill 
feasting  alone. 

As  he  was  passing  the  Baroness's  parlour  door,  the  sound 
of  Wendela's  singing  arrested  him.  He  stood  spell-bound 
on  the  landing,  in  the  half-light ;  the  spacious  alto,  clear 
and  warm,  he  knew  and  loved  ;  it  was  not  that  which  now 
enchained  him.  But  never  had  he  heard  it  singing  to  that 
plaintive  air  those  words  of  his  own  :  air  and  words  such  as 
Cliristiau  had  sung  them  on  the  first  night  at  the  Morels'. 

"  The  white  doves  brood  low 
Witli  innocent  flight. 
Higher,  my  soul,  higher ! 
Into  the  night ! 
Into  black  night ! 


4:Ge  THK   GKEATKR  GLORY. 

"  Beyond  where  the  eagle 
Soars  strong  to  the  sun. 
Nought  hast  thou,  if  only 
Earth's  stars  be  won. 
Earth's  stars  are  won. 

"  Beyond  where  God's  angels 
Stand  silent,  in  might. 
Higher,  my  soul,  higlier  ! 
Into  the  light, 
Straight  to  God's  light." 

"V\'hy  had  slie  never  snng  these  words  to  him.  Why  did 
ghe  choose  for  this  singing  the  moment  when  she  believed 
him  to  be  away?  He  knocked  boldly  and  entered.  "Mam- 
ma is  not  very  well  to-night,"  said  the  young  Freule,  rising 
hurriedly  from  the  piano.  "  I  have  been  rubbing  her  ;  she 
is  trying  to  slee23." 

In  that  sentence  the  long  patience  of  her  life  of  quiet 
sacrifice  stretched  before  him.  She  stood  there,  under  the 
cold,  blue  April  sunset,  in  the  beautiful  perturbation  of  a 
pure  and  haughty  woman.  Xo  pretty  darling  this  to  be  won 
by  an  embrace.  He  went  straight  to  the  dimly-lighted  win- 
dow and  si^read  out  his  letter,  as  he  had  done  for  Spangen- 
berg,  and  asked  her  to  read  it. 

"  This  will  not  mend  matters  at  the  Hague,"  she  said. 

"  Xo,"  he  replied  quietly,  "  I  understand  that.  And  so 
do  you.  You  and  I,  Freule,  we  JcnoiVy  at  least,  what  is  this 
'  world  '  of  which  men  sj)eak  so  much.  We  have  held  it  in 
the  hollow  of  our  hand.     Earth's  stars  are  won." 

They  were  standing,  looking  out,  beyond  the  still  canal 
between  its  smutty  trees,  beyond  the  heavy  house-tops,  up 
into  the  pallid  heaven,  at  solitary  Hesperus,  white  and  hard. 

"  And  there  is  one  glory  terrestrial,"  she  said  ;  her  voice 
had  altered.  He  turned  in  astonishment  and — oh  marvel- 
lous sight  to  him  1 — he  saw  that  there  were  tears  in  those 
strong  brown  eyes.  "  And  another  glory  celestial,  and  the 
glory  of  man  is  as  the  flower  of  the  field." 


SUCCESS.  467 

With  a  sudden  impulse  he  drew  forth  a  shabby  little 
brown  volume.  "  Do  3'ou  remember  this?"  he  asked  eager- 
ly. "  Do  you  remember  giving  it  me,  half  a  dozen  years 
ago?  It  was  a  revelation,  in  my  sordid  existence,  of  a  love 
of  something  else  than  gold  and  gilt.  You  told  me,  when 
you  gave  it,  that  it  was  the  greatest  treasure  you  possessed." 

"  I  should  not  say  that  now,"  she  answered,  taking  from 
the  top  of  the  piano  a  smaller,  yet  more  faded  book.  She 
held  it  out  to  him ;  it  was  a  Catholic  copy  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment. "  My  father  left  it  me,"  she  said  simply,  and  then, 
with  splendid  scorn  :  "  Bulbius  told  mother  I  ought  not  to 
have  it." 

lleinout  broke  the  moment's  thoughtful  silence.  "And 
do  you  remember,"  he  continued,  "  the  night  in  the  chapel, 
and  your  bidding  me  choose,  beyond  all  earthly  splendour, 
the  glory  of  God-sent  disgrace  ?  " 

She  turned  fully  upon  him,  in  the  gathering  darkness. 
"Yes,"  she  said  in  a  firm  voice, "  Knight  Pilgrim,"  and  then 
trembled  and  shrank  away. 

"  I  used  to  think,"  he  went  on,  "  that  surely  it  was  my 
duty  to  remain  where  God  had  placed  me,  tui-ning  my  back 
on  the  life  I  really  loved,  and  working  for  the  best.  But, 
perhaps  because  he  saw  me  sinking,  he  has  called  me,  by  the 
voice  of  shat/ie,  from  the  Slough  of  Despond.  Xot  all  men 
are  compelled  to  choose  as  I  was.  1  trust  to  God  I  have 
chosen  well." 

"  You  will  be  rewarded,"  she  said,  still  gazing  at  the  star, 
"  by  the  good  you  will  do  in  the  future." 

"  Dear  Freule,"  he  answered  earnestly.  "  In  some  other 
way,  in  the  old  way,  perhaps,  I  could  have  done  as  much, 
and  more.  But  this  also  I  believe  that  God  has  taught  me: 
He  does  not  ask  us  to  seek  to  do  most  good,  but  only  to  do 
right  to-day." 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  cried  vehemently.  "  You  will  do  more ! 
A  great  career  will  be  yours;  an  immeasurable  sphere  of  use- 
fulness. The  God  wl)o  gave  vou  genius  lias  wonderfully 
31 


468  THE   GREATER   GLORY. 

prepared  you  for  tlie  use  of  his  gift.  Enthusiasts  are  igno- 
rant of  life,  and  those  who  know  life  are  no  longer  enthusi- 
asts. From  a  cliild,  as  you  said  but  a  moment  ago,  you  have 
held  in  your  hand  this  bauble  of  Greatness  and  Glory  and 
been  schooled  to  appraise  it.  You  can  tell  us  what  it  is 
worth,  as  you  cast  it  away." 

She  had  spoken  with  her  old  impulsiveness  :  she  stood 
panting.  "  The  whole  world  will  listen.  We  all  shall  be 
your  family  I  "  she  said. 

He  looked  up  quickly,  with  a  sad  smile :  "  It  is  very  lone- 
ly," he  answered,  "  the  human  race,  and  nothing  nearer. 
One  feels  that,  perhaps,  most  in  a  moment  of  success.  And 
my  work  is  only  just  beginning.  You  see  what  this  man 
says  " — he  pointed  to  his  letter — " '  Your  story  is  not  fin- 
ished ;  the  career  of  your  hero  is  left  incomplete.'  He  has 
seen  clearly,  too  clearly.  Unwillingly,  I  fear,  you  have  borne 
your  large  part  in  the  chapters  already  written.  Wendela, 
can  you  join  me  willingly,  if  we  try  honestly,  cleanly,  to 
write  the  rest  ?  " 


CHAPTER   LXV. 

RESPICE    FINEif. 

The  carriages  came  creeping  up  in  an  apparently  end- 
less succession ;  cavalry  and  police  were  keeping  the  crowd 
back,  pushing  and  prancing  amid  protests  and  exclama- 
tions, occasionally  of  admiration,  more  generally  of  envy 
or  ill-will.  One  by  one,  slowly,  in  a  consistent  monotony 
of  variety,  the  landaus  and  broughams  turned  cautiously 
into  the  square,  their  horses'  heads  gradually  taking  shape 
under  the  gaslights  with  a  glitter  of  harness  and  champing 
of  bits,  to  the  soft  guiding  voice  of  the  coachman  ;  some- 
times there  would  be  a  pair  of  horses,  sometimes  a  single 
one  :  bays,  greys,  the  President's  old  white  mares — oh  what 
a  big  black  beauty  goes  there ! — then  several  chestnuts,  one 
after  the  other,  but  always  the  same  big  frightened  eyes, 
looming  in  the  damp  mist,  and  the  tall  servants  behind, 
anxious  also,  under  the  steady  rain,  and  a  blurr  of  bright 
opera-cloak  or  gold  lace  against  the  panes,  and  then  fresh 
champing  and  fresh  glitter — steady  !  steady  ! — and  another 
pair  of  horses,  wet  and  worried,  and  the  lines  of  smeared 
lamps  down  the  distance,  not  a  whit  shortened  or  altered, 
and  another  carriage — way  there,  way  ! — as  the  wretched 
spectators  splash  back  into  the  shining  puddles,  and  the 
stream  comes  flowing  on  to  that  wide  blaze  of  light  under 
the  awning  by  the  Entrance. 

There  was  a  great  Reception  at  the  Palace  to-night,  a 
"  raout,"  as  they  call  it.  Nearly  a  thousand  invitations  had 
been  sent  out,  and  such  members  of  tlie  "  Everybodv  "  as 


47(»  THE   GKEATKR   (iLOHY. 

ought  to  have  been  invited  and  were  not,  were  weeping 
their  eyes  out  in  the  bitterness  of  home. 

In  the  great  hall  and  on  the  staircase  there  was  decorous 
confusion.  For  the  flutter  which  is  inseparable  from  Pal- 
ace receptions  caused  all  these  birds  of  beautiful  plumage 
to  ruffle  their  feathers  in  the  fear  of  such  ruffling,  and 
many  a  biped,  provided  with  a  third  leg  by  way  of  orna- 
ment, went  stumbling  and  grumbling  over  that  glittering 
appendage  on  his  passage  npstairs.  It  must  be  a  melan- 
choly consideration  for  Royalty  that  nobody  ever  comes  to 
its  entertainments  for  pleasure,  but  only  to  avoid  the  pain 
of  not  having  been  there.  It  had  done  everything  in  its 
power  to  welcome  its  guests,  neither  overheating  its  saloons 
nor  overcooling  its  wines,  and  yet  everyone  was  anxious  to 
be  home  again  and  frankly  confessed  as  much  to  everyone 
else.  "  Delightful,  is  it  not  ?  So  well  managed,"  said  one 
old  man,  miserable  in  a  stiff  gold  collar,  to  another  rickety 
creature  in  perfectly-  disgraceful  calves.  "  Yes,  Roose- 
veldt  understands  his  duty;  I  shall  be  glad,  though, 
when  it's  over."  "  So  shall  I ; "  the  collar-tortured  in- 
dividual turned  to  a  bright-looking  girl  by  his  side. 
"  Ah,  Freule  van  Rexelaer  I "  he  said.  "Now  you,  doubt- 
less, would  like  such  an  evening  to  last  for  ever? 
Very  natural,  my  dear.  So  should  I,  when  I  was  your 
age,  so  should  1." 

"  Xo  indeed,"  replied  Antoinette,  laughing.  "  I  detest 
these  crushes.     I  am  here  to  chaperon  Mamma." 

"  Antoinette,  come  here  at  once,"  commanded  Mevrouw 
Elizabeth  in  a  flustered  whisper.  "Are  my  feathers  right? 
Pretend  not  to  be  looking.  I  feel  all  crooked.  I  knocked 
them  against  an  overhanging  palm." 

"  I  think  your  hair's  coming  down,"  replied  mischievous 
Topsy.     "  Hadn't  we  better  go  back  ?  " 

"  Topsy,  how  can  you  be  so  provoking?  I  am  especially 
anxious  for  you  to  create  a  good  impression.  I  don't  want 
you  to  remain  on  my  hands  for  ever,  though  it's  beginning 


RESPICE   FINEM.  471 

to  look  as  if  you  would.  What  you  meant  by  refusing  the 
two  eligible  partis  I  procured  for  you,  nobody  knows  but 
yourself,  and  since  that  infamous  boy  behaved  so  disgrace- 
fully  " 

All  the  naughty  merriment  died  out  of  Topsy's  eyes. 
"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  she  said  impatiently.  Mevrouw  Eliza- 
beth cast  an  aggrieved  glance  over  her  ample  shoulders, 
but  she  let  the  ebullition  pass.  "  I  am  anxious  to  get  near 
Christine,"  she  said.  "  I  told  George  that  his  w^fe  was  sure 
to  have  all  the  best  men  about  her.  She  is  so  uncommonly 
attractive." 

"  Which  means,"  cries  Antoinette,  "  that  she  flirts  so 
shamelessly  she  amuses  them  all." 

"Well,  at  any  rate  she  amuses  them,  which  is  more,  my 
dear,  than  some  people  seem  able  to  do." 

Antoinette  did  not  answer.  She  never  crossed  the  first 
barrier  of  her  mother's  outspokenness,  and  so  managed  to 
live  on  the  outskirts  of  peace. 

The  rooms  were  filling  to  overflowing,  literally,  for  a 
crowd  was  swaying  to  and  fro  between  the  great  doors. 
Gauzes,  and  diamonds,  and  animated  faces — bored  ones 
also,  and  vexed  and  freely  perspiring — and  an  overwhelm- 
ing abundance  of  uniforms  under  the  candles  and  greenery 
in  a  blaze  of  colour  and  a  cloud  of  perfumery  amid  the  in- 
cessant rustle  and  buzz.  "  It  is  horribly  hot,"  said  Rolline, 
when  she  happed  upon  Guy  in  the  press.  "  Not  a  bit,"  re- 
plied that  gentleman  calmly.  "  You  think  so  because  you 
are  anxious  about  your  dress."  "  Anxious  :  "  that  was  the 
prevailing  impression  ;  the  anxiety  which  is  always  attend- 
ant upon  the  Sovereign,  the  fear  of  "  something  going 
wrong." 

The  great  folding-doors  were  thrown  wide  apart,  and  a 
crowd  of  gilded  oflftcials  came  trooping  through.  Then,  in 
the  opening,  there  appeared,  alone,  a  man  clad  in  a  hussar 
uniform,  with  a  great  orange-gold  band  across  his  breast,  a 
man  of  magnificent  bearing  and   commanding  mien.     He 


472  THE  GREATER  GLORY. 

paused  suddenly,  and  turned  to  the  courtier  who  stood 
nearest : 

"  And  your  son,  my  dear  Count,"  he  said  in  French. 
"  He  is  better,  I  hope  ?    He  is  here  ?  " 

Count  Rexelaer  bent  in  reply  as  only  they  can  bend  who 
have  no  backbone : 

"  Sire,"  he  said,  "  Je  n'ai  plus  de  fils." 


THE    EXD. 


APPLETONS'   TOWN   AND    COUNTRY   LIBRARY. 

PUBLISHED   SEMI-MONTHLY. 

1.  The  Steel  Hammer.     By  Louis  Ulbach. 

2.  Eve.     A  Novel.     By  S.  Baring-Gould. 

3.  For  Fifteen  Years.     A   Sequel   to  The   Steel    Hammer.     By    Louie 

Ulbach. 

4.  A  Counsel  of  Perfection.     A  Novel.     By  Lucas  Malet. 
6.   The  Deemster.     A  Fiomance.     By  Hall  Caine. 

6.  A  Virginia  Inheritance.     By  Edmund  Pendleton. 

7.  Ninette :  An  Idyll  of  Provence.     By  the  author  of  Vera. 

8.  "  The  Right  Honourable.''''     A  Romance  of  Society  and  Politics.     By 

Justin  McCarthy  and  Jlrs.  Campbell-Praed. 

9.  The  iSilence  of  Dean  Maitland.     By  Maxwell  Grey. 

10.  Mrs.  Larimer:  A  Study  in  Black  and  White.     By  Lucas  Malet. 

11.  The  Elect  Lady.     By  George  MacDonald. 

12.  The  Mystery  of  the  '■'Ocean  Star."     By  W.  Clark  Russell. 
13    Aristocracy.     A  Novel. 

14.  A  Recoiling  Vengeance.     By  Frank  Barrett.     With  Hlu.strations. 

15.  The  Secret  of  Fo7itaine-la- Croix.     By  Margaret  Field. 

16.  The  Master  of  Rathkelly.     By  Hawley  Smart. 

17.  7?o«oya/i  .•  A  Modern  Englishman.    By  Edna  Lyall.    (Cheap  edition.) 

18.  This  Mortal  Coil.     By  Grant  Allen. 

\2.  A  Fair  Emigrant.     By  Rosa  Mulholland. 

20.  Tlie  Apostate.     A  Romance.     By  Ernest  Daudep. 

21.  Raleigh  Westgate ;  or,  Epimenides  in  Maine.     By  Helen  Kendrick 

Johnson. 

22.  Arius  the  Libyan:   A  Romance  of   the  Primitive   Church.     (Cheap 

edition.) 

23.  Constance,  and  CalboVs  Rival.     By  Julian  Hawthorne. 

24.  We  Two.     By  Edna  Lyall.     (Cheap  edition.) 

25.  A  Dreamer  of  Dreams.     By  the  author  of  Thoth. 

26.  The  Ladies''   Gallery.     By  Justin  McCarthy,  M.  P.,  and  Mrs.  Camp- 

bell-Praed. 

'27.  The  Reproach  of  Annesley.     By  Maxwell  Grey. 

28.  Near  to  Happiness. 

29.  Li  the  Wii-e-Grass.    By  Louis  Pendleton 

30.  Lace.     A  Berlin  Romance.     By  Paul  Linda u. 

31.  American  Coin.     A  Novel.     By  the  author  of  Aristocracy. 

32.  Won  by  Waiting.     By  Edna  Lyall. 

33.  The  Story  of  Helen  Davenaul.     By  Violet  Fane. 

34.  The  Ught  of  Her  Countenance.     By  H.  H.  Boyeskn. 

35.  Mistress   Reatrice    C<>pe ;   or.  Passages  in   the  Life  of  a  Jacobite's 

Daughter.     By  M.  E.  Le  Clerc. 

36.  Tlie  Knight-Errant.     By  Edna  Lyall. 

37.  In  tlie  Golden  Days.     By  Edna  Lyall. 

38.  Oiraldi ;  or.  The  Curse  of  Love.     By  Ross  George  Dering. 

39.  A  Hardy  Norseman.     By  Edna  Lyall. 

40.  The  Romance  of  Jenny  Harlotre,  and  Sketches  of  Maritime  Life.     By 

W.  Clark  Russell. 


APPLETONS'  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY   LlhRAUY .-(Coiilinwd.) 

41.  Passioti's  Slave.     By  Richard  Ashk-King. 

42.  The  Awakening  of  Mary  Fmwlck.     \iy  Beatrice  Whitby. 

43.  Countess  Jjorcley.     Translated  from  the  German  of  Rudolf  Mexger. 

44.  Blind  Love.     By  Wilkie  Collins. 

45.  The  Deati's  Daughter.     By  Sophie  F.  F.  Veitch. 

4t).  Countess  Irene.     A  Romance  of  Austrian  Life.     By  J.  Fogerty. 

47.  Robert  £rou'ning\<i  Frincipal  Shorter  Poems. 

48.  Frozen  Hearts.     By  G.  Webb  Appleton. 

49.  Dja?iibek  the  Georgian.     By  A.  G.  von  Suttner. 

50.  ?Ae  Craze  of  Christian  Engelhart.     By  Henry  Faulkner  Darnell. 
61.  LmI.     By  William  A.  Hammond,  M.  D.     (Cheap  edition.) 

52.  Aline.     A  Novel.     By  Henry  Greville. 

53.  Joost  Avelingh.     A  Dutch  Story.     By  Maarten  JIaartens. 

54.  A'aty  of  Catoctin.     By  George  Alfred  Townsend. 

55.  Throckmorton.     A  Novel.     By  Molly  Elliot  Seawell. 

56.  Expatriation.     By  the  author  of  Aristocracy. 

67.  Geoffrey  Hampstead.     By  T.  S.  Jarvis. 

68.  Dmitri.     A  Romance  of  Old  Russia.     By  F.  W.  Bain,  M.  A. 

59.  Part  of  the  Property.     By  Beatrice  Whitby. 

60.  Bismarck  in  Private  Life.     By  a  Fellow  Student. 

61.  hi  Low  Relief.     By  Morley  Roberts. 

62.  The  Canadians  of  Old.    An  Historical  Romance.    By  Philippe  Gaspe. 

63.  A  Squire  of  Low  Degree.     By  Lily  A.  Long. 

64.  A  Fluttered  Dovecote.     By  George  Manville  Fenn. 

65.  The  Nugc7its  of  Carriconna.     An  Irish  Story.     By  Tighe  Hopkins. 

66.  A  Sensitive  Plant.     By  E.  and  D.  Gerard. 

67.  DoHa  Luz.      By  Don  Juan  Valera.     Translated  by  Mrs.  Mary  J. 

Serrano. 

68.  Pepita  Ximencz.     By  Don  Juan  Valera.     Translated  by  Mrs.  Mart 

J.  Serrano. 

69.  The  Primes  and  Their  Neighbors.     Tales   of   Middle   Georgia.     By 

Richard  Malcolm  Johnston. 

70.  The  Iron  Game.     By  Henry  F.  Keenan. 

71.  Stories  of  Old  Neio  Spain.     By  Thomas  A.  Janvier. 

72.  The  Maid  of  Honor.     By  Hon.  Lewis  Wixgfikld. 

73.  In  the  Heart  of  the  Storm.     By  Maxwell  Grey. 

74.  Consequences.     By  Egerton  Castle. 

75.  The  Three  Miss  Kings.     By  Ada  Cambridge. 

76.  A  Matter  of  Skill.     By  Beatrice  Whitby. 

77.  Maid  Marian,  and  Other  Stories.     By  Molly  Elliot  Seatvell. 

78.  One  Womaii's  Way.     By  Edmund  Pendleton. 

79.  A  Mcrcifal  Divorce.     By  F.  W.  Maude. 

80.  Stephen  Ellicotfs  Daughter.     By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Needell. 

81.  One  Reason  Why.     By  Beatrice  Whitby. 

82.  The  Tragedy  of  Ida  Noble.     By  W.  Clark  Russell. 

83.  The  Johnstown  Stage,  and  Other  Storits.     By  Robert  U.  Fletcher. 

84.  A  Widower  Indeed.     By  Rhoda  Broughton  and  Elizabeth  Bisland. 

85.  TTie  Flight  of  the  Shadow.     By  George  MacDonald. 

86.  Love  or  Money.     By  Katharine  Lee. 


APPLETONS'  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  LIBRARY.— (Coniinued.) 

87.  N'ot  All  in  Vain,     By  Ada  Cambridge. 

88.  It  Happened  Yesterday.     By  Frederick  Marshall. 

89.  My  Guardian.     By  Ada  Cambridge. 

90.  The  Stor^  of  Philip  Methueri.     By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Needell. 

91.  Amethyst:  The  Story  of  a  Beauty.     By  Christabel  R.  Coleridge. 

92.  Do}i  Braulio.     By  Juan  Valera.     Translated  by  Clara  Bell. 

93.  The  Chronicles  of  Mr.  Bill  Williams.     By  Richard  M.  Johnston. 

94.  A  Queen  of  Cu7-ds  and  Cream.     By  Dorothea  Gerard. 

95.  "  La  Bella  "  and  Others.     By  Egerton  Castle. 

96.  ^^  December  Eoses."     By  Mrs.  Campbell-Praed. 

97.  Jean  de  Kerdren.     By  Jeanne  Schl'ltz. 

98.  EtelkcCs  Vow.     By  Dorothea  Gerard. 

99.  Cross  Currents.     By  Mary  A.  Dickens. 

100.  His  Life's  Magnet.     By  Theodora  Elmslie. 

101.  Passinrf  the  Love  of  Women.     By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Needell. 

102.  In  Old  St.  Stephc7i\'i.     By  Jeanie  Drake. 

103.  The  Berkeleys  and  Their  Ndghlors.     By  Molly  Elliot  Skawell. 

104.  Moyia  Maclean,  Medical  Student.     By  Graham  Travers. 

105.  Mrs.  Bligh.     By  Rhoda  Broughton. 

106.  A  Stumble  on  the  Threshold.     By  James  Payn. 

107.  Hanging  Moss.     By  Paul  Lindau. 

108.  A  Comedy  of  Elopement.     By  Christian  Reid. 

109.  In  the  Sunt ime  of  her  Youth.     By  Beatrice  Whitby. 

110.  Stories  in  Black  and  While.     By  Thomas  Hardy  and  Others. 
110^.  An  Englishman  in  Paris.     Notes  and  Recollections. 

111.  Commander  Mendoza.     By  Juan  Valera. 

112.  Dr.  PauWs  Theory.     By  Mrs.  A.  M.  Dieiil. 

113.  Children  of  Destiny.     By  JIolly  Elliot  Seawell. 

114.  A  Little  Minx.     By  Ada  Cambridge. 

115.  CapVn  Davy^s  Honeymoon.     By  Hall  Caise. 

116.  The  Voice  of  a  Flower.     By  E.  Gerard. 

117.  Singid-jrly  Deluded.     By  the  author  of  Idcala. 

118.  Su,<tpected.     By  Louisa  Stratencs. 

119.  Lucia,  Hugh,  and  Another.     By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Needell. 

120.  T7ie  Tutor's  Secret.     By  Victor  Cherbulikz. 

121.  From  the  Five  Rivers.     By  Mrs.  F.  A.  Steel. 

122.  An  Innocent  ImjMstor,  and  Other  Stories.     By  Maxwell  Grkt. 

123.  Idcala.     By  Sarah  Grand. 

124.  A  Comedy  of  Mmks.     By  Ernest  Dowson  and  Arthur  Moore. 

125.  Belies.     By  Frances  MacNab. 

126.  Dodo:  A  Detail  of  the  Day.     By  E.  F.  Benson. 

127.  A  Woman  of  Fortt/.     By  Esme  Stuart. 

128.  Diana  Tempest.     By  Mary  Cholmondeley. 

129.  The  Recipe  for  Diamonds.     By  C.  J.  Cutcliffe  Hyne. 

Each,  12mo.     Paper,  50  cents;  cloth,  75  cents  and  $1.00. 


New  York:    D.  APPLETON  i  CO.,  Publishers,  1,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


T 


D.  APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

Books  by  Sara  Jeannette  Duncan. 

'HE  SIMPLE  ADVENTURES  OE  A  MEM  SA- 
HIB. By  Sara  Jeanneite  Duncan.  With  37  Illustrations 
by  F.  H.  TowNSEND.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"It  is  impossible  for  Sara  Jeannette  Duncan  to  be  otherwise  than  intTCsting. 
Whether  it  be  a  voyage  around  the  world,  or  an  American  girl's  experiences  in  Lon- 
don society',  or  the  adventures  pertaining  to  the  estabhshment  of  a  youthful  couple  in 
India,  there  is  always  an  atmosphere,  a  quality,  a  charm  peculiarly  her  own." — Biook- 
lyn  Standard-Union. 

"  It  is  like  traveling  without  leaving  one's  armchair  to  read  it.  Miss  Duncan  has 
the  descriptive  and  narrative  gift  in  large  measure,  and  she  brings  vividly  before  us 
the  street  scenes,  the  interiors,  the  bewilderingly  queer  natives,  the  gayeties  of  the 
English  colony." — Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

"  Another  witty  and  delightful  book." — Philadelphia  Times. 


A 


SOCIAL  DEPARTURE:  How  Orthodocia  and  I 

Went  Round  the  World  by  Ourselves.  By  Sara  Jeannette 
Duncan.  With  iii  Illustrations  by  F.  H.  Tow.nsend.  i2mo. 
Paper,  75  cents  ;  cloth,  S1.75. 

"Widely  read  and  praised  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific,  with  scores  of 
illustrations  which  fit  the  text  exactly  and  show  the  mind  of  artist  and  writer  in  unison." 
— New  York  Kvenifig  Post. 

"  It  is  to  be  doubted  whether  another  book  can  be  found  so  thoroughly  amusing 
from  beginning  to  end." — Boston  Daily  A  dvertiser . 

"For  sparkling  wit,  irresistibly  contagious  fun,  keen  observation,  absolutely  poetic 
appreciation  of  natural  beauty,  and  vivid  descriptiveness,  it  has  no  recent  rival  " — Mrs. 
P.  T.  Bak.num's  Letter  to  the  New  "i'ork  Tribune. 

"  A  brighter,  merrier,  more  entirely  charming  book  would  be,  indeed,  difficult  to 
find." — St.  Louis  Republic. 

N  AMERICAN  GIRL  IN  LONDON.  By  Sara 
Je.annette  Duncan.  With  80  Illustrations  by  F.  H.  TowN- 
SE.ND.     i2mo.     Paper,  75  cents  ;  cloth,  Si. 50. 

"One  of  the  most  naive  and  entertaining  books  of  the  season." — New  York  Ob- 
server. 

"  The  raciness  and  breeziness  which  made  '  A  Social  Departure,'  by  the  same 
author,  last  season,  the  best-read  and  most-talked-of  book  of  travel  for  many  a  year, 
permeate  the  new  book,  and  appear  between  the  lines  of  every  page." — Brooklyn 
Standa  rd-  Union . 

"  So  sprightly  a  book  as  this,  on  life  in  London  as  observed  by  an  American,  has 
never  before  been  written." — Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

"Overrunning  with  cleverness  and  good-will." — Ne-w  York  Commercial  Adver- 
tiser. 

"We  shall  not  interfere  with  the  reader's  privilege  to  find  out  for  herself  what,  after 
her  presentation  at  court  and  narrow  escape  from  Cupid's  meshes  in  England,  becomes 
of  the  American  girl  who  is  the  gay  theme  of  the  book.  Sure  we  are  that  no  one  who 
takes  up  the  volume — which,  by  the  way,  is  cunningly  illustrated — will  lay  it  down 
until  his  or  her  mind  is  at  rest  on  this  point." — Toronto  Mail. 


A 


New  York :    D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.   APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

'AJ\rV  INVENTIONS.     By  Rudyard    Kipling. 

Containing  fourteen  stories,  several  of  which  are  now  pub- 
lished for  the  first  time,  and  two  poems.  i2mo,  427  pages. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"The  reader  turns  from  its  pages  with  the  conviction  that  the  author  has  no  supe- 
rior to-day  in  animated  narrative  and  virility  of  style.  He  remains  master  of  a  power 
in  which  none  of  his  contemporaries  approach  him — the  ability  to  select  out  of  countless 
details  the  few  vital  ones  which  create  the  finished  picture.  He  knows  how,  wiih  a 
phrase  or  a  word,  to  make  you  see  his  characters  as  he  sees  them,  to  make  you  feel 
the  full  meaning  of  a  dramatic  situation." — Neu)  York  'Iribune. 

'"Many  Inventions'  will  confirm  Mr.  Kipling's  reputation.  .  .  .  We  would  cite 
with  pleasure  sentences  from  almost  every  page,  and  extract  incidents  from  almost 
every  story.  But  to  what  end?  Here  is  the  compleiest  book  that  Mr  Kipling  has  yet 
given  us  in  workmanship,  the  weightiest  and  most  humane  in  breadth  of  view." — 
Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"  Mr.  Kipling's  powers  as  a  story-teller  are  evidently  not  diminishing.  We  advise 
everybody  to  buy  '  ftlany  Inventions,'  and  10  profit  by  some  of  the  best  entertainment 
that  modern  fiction  has  to  offer." — Neiu  York  Sun. 

"  '  Many  Inventions  '  will  be  welcomed  wherever  the  English  languageis  spoken. 
.  .  .  Every  one  of  the  stories  bears  the  imprint  of  a  master  who  conjures  up  incident 
as  if  by  magic,  and  who  portrays  character,  scenery,  and  feeling  with  an  ease  which  is 
only  exceeded  by  the  boldness  of  force." — Boston  Globe. 

"The  book  will  get  and  hold  the  closest  attention  of  the  reader." — .-Itiiertcun 
Bookseller. 

"  Mr.  Rudyard  Kipling's  place  in  the  world  of  letters  is  unique.  He  sits  quite  alnof 
and  alone,  the  incomparable  and  inimitable  master  of  the  exquisitely  fine  art  of  short- 
story  writing.  Mr.  Robert  Louis  Stevenson  has  perhaps  written  several  tales  which 
match  the  run  of  Mr.  Kipling's  work,  but  the  best  of  Mr.  Kipling's  tales  are  matchless, 
and  his  latest  collection,  'Many  Inventions,'  contains  several  such." — Philadelphia 
Press. 

"Of  late  essays  in  fiction  the  work  of  Kipling  can  be  compared  to  only  three — 
Blackmore's  '  Lorna  Doone,'  Stevenson's  marvelous  sketch  of  Villon  in  the  'New 
Arabian  Nights,' and  Thomas  Hardy's  '  Tess  of  the  D'Urbervilles.'  .  .  .  It  is  probably 
owing  to  this  extreme  care  that  '  Many  Inventions  '  is  undoubtedly  Mr.  Kipling's  best 
book." — Chicago  Post. 

"  Mr.  Kipling's  style  is  too  well  known  to  American  readers  to  require  introduction, 
but  it  can  scarcely  be  amiss  to  .say  there  is  not  a  story  in  this  collection  that  does  not 
more  than  repay  a  perusal  of  them  all." — Baltiritore  Avierican. 

"As  a  writer  of  short  stories  Rudyard  Kipling  is  a  genius.  He  has  had  imitators, 
but  they  have  not  been  successful  in  dimming  the  luster  of  his  achievements  by  con- 
trast. ,  .  .  'Many  Inventions'  is  the  title.  And  they  are  inventions— entirely  origi- 
nal in  incident,  ingenious  in  plot,  and  siartling  by  their  boldness  and  force." — Rochester 
Herald. 

"  How  clever  he  is !  This  must  always  be  the  first  thought  on  reading  such  a 
collection  of  Kipling's  stories.  Here  is  art — art  of  the  most  consummate  sort  Com- 
pared with  this,  the  stories  of  our  brightest  young  writers  become  commonplace."  — 
New  York  Evangelist. 

"  Taking  the  group  as  a  whole,  it  may  be  said  that  the  execution  is  up  to  his  best 
in  the  past,  while  two  or  three  sketches  surpass  in  rnunded  slrenglh  and  vividness  of 
imagination  anything  else  he  has  done." — Ilart/ord  Courant. 

"Fifteen  more  extraordinary  sketches,  without  a  tinge  of  sensation.ilism,  it  would 
be  hard  to  find.  .  .  .  Every  one  has  an  individuality  of  its  own  which  fascinates  tho 
reader." — Boston  Times. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D 


D.  APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


UFFELS.  By  Edward  Eggleston,  author  of  "  The 
Faith  Doctor,"  "  Roxy,"  "  The  Hoosier  Schoolmaster,"  etc. 
l2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"A  collection  of  stories  each' of  which  is  thoroughly  characteristic  of  Dr.  Eggles- 
ton at  his  best." — Baltimore  American. 

"  Oeslined  to  become  very  popular.  The  stories  are  of  infinite  variety.  All  are 
pleasing,  even  fascinating,  studies  of  the  chararater,  lives,  and  manners  of  the  periods 
with  which  they  deal." — t  hiladelphia  Item. 

HTHE  FAITH  DOCTOR.     By  Edward  Eggi.eston, 
-*         author  of  •' The  Hoosier  Schoolmaster,"  "  The  Circuit  Rider," 
etc.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 
"One  oi  the  novels  cf  the  decade." — Rochester  Union  and  Advertiser. 
"  The  author  of  '  The  Hoosier  Schoolmaster' has  enhanced  his  reputation  by  this 
beautiful  and  touching  study  of  the  character  of  a  girl   to  love  whom  proved  a  liberal 
education  to  both  of  her  admirers.  "—Z,(i«<i>«  Athetiteum. 

"  '  The  Faith  Doctor '  is  worth  reading  for  its  style,  its  wit,  and  its  humor,  and  not 
less,  we  may  add,  for  its  pathos." — London  Spectator. 

"  Much  skill  is  shown  by  the  author  in  making  these  '  fads '  the  basis  of  a  novel  of 
great  interest.  .  .  .  One  who  tries  to  keep  in  the  current  of  good  novel-reading  must 
certainly  find  time  to  read  '  The  Faith  Doctor.'  " — Buffalo  Commercial. 


"L 


A  BELLA  "  AND  OTHERS.    By  Egerton  Cas- 
tle, author  of  "  Consequences."     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"The  stories  will  be  welcomed  with  a  sense  of  refreshing  pungency  by  readeis 
who  have  been  cloyed  by  a  too  long  succession  of  insipid  sweetness  and  familiar 
incident." — London  .4 thenceiim. 

"The  author  is  gifted  with  a  lively  fancy,  and  the  clever  plots  he  has  devised  gain 
greatly  in  interest,  thanks  to  the  unfemiliar  surroundings  in  which  the  action  for  the 
most  part  takes  place." — London  Literary  World. 

"  Eight  stories,  all  exhibiting  notable  originality  in  conception  and  mastery  of  art, 
the  first  two  illustrating  them  best.  They  a(Jd  a  dramatic  power  that  makes  them 
masterpieces.  Both  belong  to  the  period  when  fencing  was  most  skillful,  and  illustrate 
its  practice." — Boston  Globe. 

pLINE  VERE.      By  Louis  Couperus.      Translated 

J-—*     from  the  Dutch  by  J.  T.  Grein.      With  an  Introduction  by 

Edmund  Gosse.    Holland  Fiction  Series.    i2mo.   Cloth,  Si.co. 

"  Most  careful  in  its  details  of  description,  most  picturesque  in  its  coloring." — 
Boston  Post. 

"  A  vivacious  and  skillful  performance,  giving  an  evidently  faithful  picture  of  society, 
and  evincing  the  art  cf  a  true  storj'-teller." — Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

"  The  d/iioilment  is  tragical,  thrilling,  and  picturesque." — New  }'o>k  World. 

New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


M 


D.   APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

ADA  CAMBRIDGE'S  NOVELS. 

Y  GUARDIAN.     i2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth, 
$1.00. 

"  A  story  which  will,  from  first  to  last,  enlist  the  sjonpathies  of  the  reader  by  its  sim- 
plicity of  style  and  fresh,  genuine  feeling.  .  .  .  The  author  is  a«_/fi2/ at  the  delineation 
of  character." — Boston  1  ranscript. 

"  An  interesting  English  story  of  '  The  Fen  Country."  It  is  a  novel  out  of  the  usual 
order.  'J'he  reader  will  be  absorbed  in  the  fortunes  and  history  it  records,  and  the  easy, 
graceful  style  of  the  author  will  be  found  thoroughly  enjoyable." — Chicago  Inier-Ucean. 

"  The  ddnodment  is  all  that  the  most  ardent  romance-reader  could  desire." — Chi- 
cago Evening  Journal. 


T 


HE    THREE  MISS  KINGS,     iimo.     Paper,  50 
cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  An  exceedingly  strong  novel.  It  is  an  Australian  story,  teeming  with  a  certain 
calmness  of  emotional  power  that  finds  expression  in  a  continual  outflow  of  living 
thought  and  feeling.  ' — Boston  limes. 

"Sure  to  olitain  fa%or  from  the  reading  public.  The  descriptions  of  life  in  Mel- 
bourne are  highly  interesting  lo  us  on  this  side  of  the  world:  and  as  for  the  three  Miss 
Kings  themselves,  they  are  simply  charming." — Halifax  Critic. 

"  The  story  is  told  with  great  brilliancy,  the  character  and  society  sketching  is  very 
charming,  while  delightful  incidents  and  happy  surprises  abound.  It  is  a  tiiple  love- 
story,  pure  in  tone,  and  of  very  high  literary  merit" — Chicago  Herald. 


N 


OT  ALL   IN    VAIN.     i2mo.     Paper,    50    cents; 

cloth,  $1.00. 

"  A  worthy  companion  to  the  best  of  the  author's  former  efforts,  and  in  some  re- 
sDects  superior  to  any  of  them." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

"The  author  has  had  a  story  to  tell,  a  very  interesting  and  unusual  story  it  is,  and 
she  has  kept  to  it  with  an  amount  of  self  control  that  is  as  rare  as  it  is  gratifying  to  the 
reader.  Its  surprises  are  as  unexpected  as  Frank  Stockton's,  but  they  are  the  sur- 
prises that  are  met  with  so  constantly  in  human  experience.  ...  A  better  story  has 
not  been  published  in  many  moons." — Philadelpltia  Inquirer. 


A 


LITTLE  MINX.     i2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth, 
$1.00. 

"A  thoroughly  charming  new  novel,  which  is  just  the  finest  bit  of  work  its  author 
has  yet  accomplished." — Baltimore  American. 

"The  character  of  the  versatile,  resilient  heroine  is  especially  cleverly  drawn." — 

New  \'ork  Commercial  .Advertiser. 

"  Another  of  the  Australian  stories  for  which  this  author  has  attained  so  just  a  popu- 
larity."— Boston  Beacon. 

The  English  Press  on  Ada  Camkridge's  Books. 

"  Many  of  the  types  of  character  introduced  would  not  have  disgraced  George 
Eliot." — Vanity  Fair. 

"  .\d?i  Cambridge's  book  is  rendered  attractive  by  the  kindly  spirit  and  fine  feeling 
which  it  evinces,  by  the  wide  and  generous  sympathies  of  its  author,  and  no  less  by 
har  rem.irkable  literary  ability."  — 7 //?  Speaker. 


New  York :    D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


p 


D.   APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


ICCrOLA.  By  X.  B.  Saintine.  With  130  Illus- 
trations by  J.  F.  GuELDRY.  8vo.  Cloth,  gilt  top,  uniform  with 
"  The  Story  of  Colette  "  and  "  An  Attic  Philosopher  in  Paris," 
$1.50. 

"  Saintine's  '  Picciola,'  the  pathetic  tale  of  the  prisoner  who  raised  a  flower 
between  the  cracks  of  the  flagging  of  his  dungeon,  has  passed  definitely  into  the  list  of 
classic  books.  ...  It  has  never  been  more  beautifully  housed  than  in  this  edition, 
with  its  fine  typography,  binding,  and  sympathetic  illustrations." — Philadelphia  Tele- 
graph. 

"  '  Picciola  '  is  an  exquisite  thing,  and  deserves  such  a  setting  as  is  here  given  it." 
— Hartford  Courant. 

"  The  binding  is  both  unique  and  tasteful,  and  the  book  commends  itself  strongly 
as  one  that  should  meet  with  general  favor  in  the  season  of  gift-making." — Boston 
Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

'•  Most  beautiful  in  its  clear  type,  cream-laid  paper,  many  attractive  illustrations, 
and  holiday  binding  " — iVew  York  Observer. 


A 


N  ATTIC  PHILOSOPHER  IN  PARIS  ;  or,  A 
Peep  at  the  World  front  a  Garret.  Being  the  Journal  of  a 
Happy  Man.  By  Emile  Souvestre.  With  numerous  Illus- 
trations.    8vo.     Cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.50. 

"A  suitable  holiday  gift  for  a  ftiend  who  appreciates  refined  literature." — Boston 
Times. 

"  It  possesses  a  charming  simplicity  of  style  that  makes  it  extremely  fascinating, 
while  the  moral  lesson  it  conveys  commends  itself  to  every  heart  The  work  has 
now  become  a  French  classic.  It  Ls  beautifully  gotten  up  and  illustrated,  and  is  a 
delight  to  the  eye  as  well  as  to  the  mind  and  heart." — Chicago  Herald. 

"7  he  influence  of  the  book  is  wholly  good.  The  volume  is  a  particularly  hand- 
some one." — Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

"  It  is  a  classic.  It  has  found  an  appropriate  reliquarj'.  Faithfully  translated, 
charmingly  illustrated  by  Jean  Claude  with  full-page  pictures,  vignettes  in  the  text, 
and  head  and  tail  pieces,  printed  in  graceful  type  on  handsome  paper,  and  bound  with 
an  art  worthy  of  >Iatthews,  in  half-cloth,  ornamented  on  the  cover,  it  is  an  exemplary 
book,  fit  to  be  '  a  treasure  for  aye.'  " — A'ew  York  Times. 


T 


HE  STOP  Y  OF  COLETTE.     A  new  large-paper 
edition.     With  36  Illustrations.     8vo.     Cloth,  gilt  top,  S1.50. 

"  One  of  the  gems  of  the  season.  .  .  .  It  is  the  story  of  the  life  of  young  womanhood 
in  France,  dramatically  told,  with  the  light  and  shade  and  coloring  of  the  genuine 
artist,  and  is  \itterly  free  from  that  which  mars  too  many  French  novels.  In  its 
literary  finish  it  is  well-nigh  perfect,  indicating  the  hand  of  the  master." — Boston 
Traveller. 

"  The  binding  is  exquisite." — Rochester  Union  and  Advertiser. 

"  A  volume  as  pleasant  to  the  eyes  as  the  story  is  witching  to  the  imagination." — 
The  Independent. 

"  One  of  the  handsomest  of  the  books  of  fiction  for  the  holiday  season." — Philadel- 
phia Bulletin. 


New  York:    D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3.  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


APPLETONS'   SUMMER   SERIES,   1891. 
VURMALIN'S     TIME     CHEQUES.        By 

Anstey,  author  of  "  Vice  Versa,"  "  The  Giant's  Robe,"  etc. 

"Mr.  Anstey  has  done  nothing  more  original  or  fantastic  with  more  success.' 
The  Nation. 

"  A  curious  conceit  and  very  entertaining  storj'." — Bosinn  Advertiser. 

"  Each  cheque  is  good  for  several  laughs." — AVw  Veri  Herald. 

"  Certainly  one  of  the  most  diverting  books  of  the  season." — Brooklyn  Times. 

"Exquisitely  printed  and  bound." — Philadelphia  Times. 


T 


F 


ROM     SHADOW     TO     SUNLIGHT.     By    the 

Marquis  of  Lor.ne. 

"In  these  days  of  princely  criticism— that  is  to  say,  criticism  of  princes — it  is  re- 
freshing to  meet  a  really  good  bit  of  aristocratic  literary  work,  albeit  the  author  is  only 
a  prince-in-law.  .  .  .  The  theme  chosen  by  the  Marquis  makes  his  story  attractive  to 
Americans. " — Chicago  7'ribiiue. 

"A  charming  book." — Cincinnati  inquirer. 

/I DOTTING  AN  ABANDONED  FARM.  By 
■^J-    Kate  Sanborn. 

" .\  sunny,  pungent,  humorous  sketch." — Chicago  Times. 

"A  laughable  picture  of  the  grievous  experiences  of  a  young  woman  who  sought 
to  demonstrate  the  idea  that  a  woman  can  faim.  .  .  .  1  he  drakes  refused  to  lay;  the 
vegetables  refused  to  come  up;  and  the  taxes  would  not  go  down." — Minneajolis 
Tribune. 

"The  book  is  dainty  in  exterior  as  well  as  rich  within;  and  to  those  who  seek 
health,  moral  and  physical,  we  say,  '  Buy  it.'  " — Montreal  Gazette. 

"  If  any  one  wants  an  hour's  entertainment  for  a  warm  sunny  day  on  the  piazza, 
or  a  cold  wet  day  by  the  log-fire,  this  is  the  book  that  will  furnish  it" — Ae^v  York 
Observer. 

"Many  is  the  good  laugh  the  reader  will  have  over  its  pages." — Phiiadelfhia 
Ledger. 


o 


N  THE  LAKE  OF  L  UCERNE,  and  other  Stones. 
By  Beatrice  Whitby,  author  of  "A  Matter  of  Skill,"  "The 
Awakening  of  Mary  Fenwick,"  etc. 

"  Six  short  stories  carefully  and  conscientiously  finished,  and  told  with  the  graceful 
ease  of  the  practiced  raconteur." — Literary  Digest. 

"  The  stories  are  pleasantly  to'd  in  light  and  delicate  vein,  and  arc  sure  to  be  ac- 
ceptable to  the  friends  Miss  Whitby  h.is  already  made  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic."— 
Philadelphia  Bulletin. 

"  Very  dainty,  not  only  in  mechanical  workmanship  but  in  matter  and  m.Tnner."— 
Boston  Advertiser. 

Each,  i6mo,  half  cloth,  with  specially  designed  cover,  50  cents. 


New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


RICHARD    MALCOLM   JOHNSTON'S   STORIES. 


IV. 


I  DOW    GUTHRIE.     Illustrated  by  E.  W. 
Kemble.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"TheWiiiow  Guthrie  stands  out  more  boldly  than  any  other  figure  we  know — a 
figure  curiously  compounded  of  cynical  hardness,  blind  love,  and  Irokeii-hearted  pathos. 
.  .  .  A  strong  and  interesting  study  of  Georgia  characteristics  without  depending  upon 
dialect.  There  is  just  sufficient  mannerism  and  change  of  speech  to  give  piquancy  to 
the  whole." — Baltimore  Sun, 

"  Southern  humor  is  droll  and  thoroughly  genuine,  and  Colonel  Johnston  is  one  of 
its  prophets  The  Widow  Guthrie  Ls  admirably  drawn.  She  would  have  delighted 
Thackeray.  The  story  which  bears  her  name  is  one  of  the  best  studies  of  Southern  life 
which  we  possess." — Cliristian  Union. 


r 


HE  PRIMES  AND  THEIR  NEIGHBORS. 
Illustrated  by  Kemble,  Frost,  and  others.  i2mo.  Cloth, 
uniform  with  "Widow  Guthrie,"  Si-25-  Also  in  paper,  not 
illustrated,  50  cents. 

"  The  South  ought  to  erect  a  monument  in  gratitude  tn  Richard  Malcolm  Johnston. 
While  scores  of  writers  have  been  looking  for  odd  Southern  characters  and  customs 
and  writing  them  up  as  curiosities,  Mr.  Johnston  has  been  content  to  tell  stories  in 
which  .-ill  the  people  are  such  as  might  be  found  in  almost  any  Southern  village  before 
the  war,  and  the  incidents  are  those  of  the  social  life  of  the  people,  uncomplicated  by 
anything  which  happened  during  the  late  unpleasantness.." — Xeiu  y'ork  HeraUi. 

"  These  ten  short  stories  are  full  of  queer  people,  who  not  only  talk  but  act  in  a  sort 
of  dialect.  Their  one  interest  is  their  winning  oddity.  They  are  as  truly  native  to  the 
soil  as  are  the  people  of  '  Widow  Guthrie.'  In  both  books  the  humor  is  genuine,  and 
the  local  coloring  is  bright  and  attractive." — JVc:w  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 


T 


HE  CHRONICIES  OE  MR.  BILL  WILLIAMS. 

(Dukesborough    Tales.)      i2mo.      Paper,   50  cents;    cloth,  with 
Portrait  of  the  Author,  $1.00. 

"  .\  delightful  oriiinality  characterizes  these  stories,  which  may  take  a  high  rank 
in  our  native  fiction  thit  depics  tie  various  phases  of  the  national  life.  Their  humor 
is  equally  genuine  and  keen,  and  their  pathos  is  delicate  and  searching." — Boston 
Saturday  Evening-  Gazette.  ' 

"  Stripped  of  their  bristling  envelope  of  dialect,  the  core  of  these  experiences  emerges 
as  lumps  of  pure  comedy,  as  refreshing  as  traveler's  trees  in  a  thirsty  land;  and  the 
literary  South  may  be  grateful  that  it  has  a  living  writer  able  and  willing  to  cultivate  a 
neglected  patch  of  its  wide  domain  with  such  charming  skill."—  TAe  Critic. 


M 


R.  EORTNER'S  MARITAL  CLAIMS,  and  Other 
Stories.     i6mo.     Boards,  50  cents. 

"When  the  last  story  is  finished  we  feel,  in  imitation  of  Oliver  Twist,  like  asking 
for  more." — Public  Opinion. 

"Quaint  and  lifelike  pictures,  as  characteristic  in  dialect  as  in  description,  of 
Georgia  scenes  and  characters,  and  the  quaintness  of  its  humor  is  entertaining  and 
delightful." — \Vashi)igton  Public  Opinion.  . 

\ 

New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  i,  3.  &  5  Bond  Street. 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


Series  9482 


